Thin
by Winchesterforlife
Summary: Dean had never been the type to obsess about his weight, but now he's trapped in a downward spiral revolving around food and exercise. Can John and Sam save him before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.**

**Beginning of an eating disorder! Dean story. If you guys like it, I'll keep going. **

It was raining outside-not just a drizzle, but the kind of rain that comes accompanied wtih thunder, lightning-the whole _shibang. _Dean was sitting at the table, weeping quietly and waiting for his Dad to come back to the-it was the anniversery, and he was going to be a mess. It happened the same way every year-Dad would go out, get wasted, and come back either angry or upset. Dean always made sure that Sam was out of the way on these nights-although Dad had never hit them, these were the nights that he came close.

Dean heard the key being inserted in the door, and quickly dried his tears. No need to look like a girl in front of his father.

John walked through the door and tripped over a pair of Sam's jeans. The nine year old was a tornado, leaving dirty dishes and clothes in his wake. It really pissed John off, but most nights he would've left it alone.

But tonight wasn't most nights.

"DAMNIT, DEAN!" he roared. "DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO CLEAN THIS PLACE UP?"

Dean shuddered-it was one of _those _years. He slowly stood up and walked over to his Dad. "I'll clean up Dad, I'm sorry."

He moved to pick up the pants, but John struck him across the face.

"Damn right you will," John grunted, moving towards the refridgerator. _Oh, shit. _The fridge would be empty, because he'd given Sam the last of the chicken nuggets and fries earlier.

"Dean?" John asked menicingly. "Where's the food?"

"I'm-I'm sorry," Dean stuttered, improvising. "I finished it."

John slammed the fridge door shut and walked over to his son. "You're getting chubby there, Dean."

"I'm-I'm sorry, Dad," Dean responded. "I'll train tomorrow."

"Damn right you will," John nodded. "Gotta get rid of that fat. Go to bed. I've got drills planned for you tomorrow."

Dean walked out of the room and into the bathroom, where he quickly stripped. He looked in the full-length mirror-_Dad was right. I am fat. _In his mind, he saw bulging rolls, a double chin, and chubby arms, while anyone else would've seen an all-too-skinny-boy.

_I need to lose weight. _He'd stop eating. He'd be skinny. He'd be perfect, for his Dad and Sammy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.**

**Read and review, please? I'm sorry if this absolutely sucks. **

When Dean woke up the following morning, his stomach was growling, and his mouth was dry. He wanted to go down the street to the diner and get a burger and a milkshake with Sammy. But he couldn't, because he was too fat.

_Fat. Fat. Fat. _He stood up and walked over to the bathroom, where there was a full-length mirror. He studied himself critcally, letting all of his faults sink in.

He had chubby cheeks, and a double chin. His stomach bulged far over the waistband of his pajama pants, and his legs were thick pink hams. He needed to lose at least twenty pounds, and quickly. So Dad and Sammy would be proud of him.

Dean walked back into the bedroom, careful not to wake a sleeping Sammy. He looked at a pair of his jeans-no, he was too fat for that. He reached for a pair of sweatpants, that covered the worst of his fat. A large sweatshirt covered the rest. He could do this. He'd make them proud.

He walked out into the other room-Dad was passed out on the couch. Judging by how much he had drank the previous night, Dean guessed he'd be out for a while. Maybe, if he began to work out, Dad would be proud when he woke up.

_What if I go running?_ _In a few layers of clothes? _Surely the additonal layers would make him sweat more, burning more calories. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He'd go burn off all of the calories he'd eaten yesterday.

He went back to the room and grabbed a few more sweatshirts, and another pair of sweatpants. He looked like the Michelin tire man, but it would do. He left a note for Sam and Dad and entered out into the cool morning air.

At first, it was awkward-the layers made it difficult to move. But once he started going, he found it easier to keep moving. After ten minutes, he was sweating profusely.

_Keep moving, Dean_, he thought. _Every step burns calories. You've got to lose weight. Gotta be good for Dad and Sammy. You don't want to fail them more than you already have, do you? They're embarrassed by you. Because you're fat-fat-FAT. Keep moving. _

He'd do four miles, than he'd double back. He'd take a shower and act like the same old Dean for Sammy. He'd do whatever training excercise Dad had planned for them, and do it well. Well, as well as he could while being fat.

When he walked into the motel room, he realized that Dad and Sammy were awake. They were fighting again-this time, it was about leaving the motel.

"DAD, I'M NOT LEAVING!" Sam shouted, his face red. "I FINALLY HAVE FRIENDS."

"SAM, I'M GOING ON A LONG JOB. I'M NOT JUST GOING TO LEAVE YOU GUYS HERE FOR A COUPLE MONTHS WHILE I GO OFF WITH RUFUS," Dad responded, getting in Sam's face. "YOU'RE GOING TO BOBBY'S."

"Sammy," Dean walked in between the two, hoping to diffuse the situation. "I know it sucks. But we've got to go."

"Dean, get out of my way!" Sam pushed him, but the attempt was too feeble to do any serious damage. Dean stood his ground-he wasn't going to let his baby brother fight _anyone _when he was around. "Damnit, Dean! I HATE YOU!"

With that, Sam stomped over to his room and slammed the door shut. The kid might as well have stuck a knife in his heart, beause the comment sliced right through Dean. Even Sammy, his own baby brother, didn't want to be around him.

Dean looked over to Dad, hoping against hope for maybe a reassuring word or a pat on the shoulder, but he didn't get it. The sullen man simply said, "Pack your bags."

Dean nodded, and headed towards his room to begin packing up. There were tears in his eyes as he shoved his meager belongings in his duffel. When he reached to pull his last pair of jeans out of the closet, he found a tool that would begin a whole new type of hell for him.

In the pocket of the jeans was his pocketknife, the one Dad had gotten him when he turned thirteen. He picked it up and flicked it up-it was razor sharp. When he poked it to his finger without pressure, it drew a beautiful bead of scarlet red blood.

He put the knife in his pocket and folded up the last pair of jeans, shoving them in his bag quickly. Sparing a quick glance at Sammy, he walked over to the bathroom and shut the door.

Dean sat down in between the sink and the bathtub, rolling up his sleeve He thought about it for a minute-would this hurt anyone else? But then he realized that he was such a fat fuck of a failure, no one would care. Flicking out the blade, he pressed it to his forearm.

Pain erupted from the site of the cut, delicious and comforting. He stared at the slit on his arm, smiled as the blood came. It wasn't a particularly deep cut, but it left him hungry for more.

He moved lower down, cutting paralell line into his flesh. In a way, it was luck he was punishing himself-but who knew that punishing yourself could feel so good? With each cut, he forgot a bit more about his fight with Sammy and his diet. When he was finished, he pressed a wad of toilet paper on his arms.

There was a banging on the door-"Dean, open up!"

The cuts were still bleeding, so he wrapped them in toilet paper and pulled down his sleeves. He walked out of the bathroom, right past Sammy. "All yours, bitch."

"Thanks, jerk," Sammy responded, brushing past hm. "Dad's in the Impala."

Dean grabbed his duffel and made one last sweep of the motel room. Once he was sure that nothing was left behind, he walked over to the Impala. Dad was sitting in the drivers seat, drumming his fingers on the wheel impatiently. "Get in the car, Dean."

He went to take shotgun, his regular seat-but then thought better. His Dad would be embarassed to have him next to him-that's probably why he wasn't going on this hunt, too. He climbed into the backseat and rested his head against the headrest, as Sammy sat down next to him.

While he was at Bobby's, he was going to diet. He was going to excercise. He was going to lose all of his fat and be skinny for his Dad and Sammy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**If I didn't mention before, Dean's thirteen and Sam's nine. **

John was suprised by Dean's decision to sit in back, but didn't question it. He was nursing a massive hangover from last night, and the headache was killing him after his fight with Sam.

"Where's your brother?" he asked, glancing in the rearview mirror-Dean was fiddling with his left sleeve, but John didn't say anything.

"Bathroom," Dean answered, eyes averted. He felt guilty, because the cuts on his arm were signs of his weakness, and he had to be strong for Dad and Sammy. Even though they didn't want him.

"Goddamn kid," John muttered. "Probably doing his makeup."

"Come on, Dad," Dean protested. "Do you really need to talk about him like that?"

"Did I ask for your input, Dean?" John asked, venom in his voice.

"No, sir," Dean ducked his head.

"That's what I thought," John said curtly, turning back around.

Sam got in the car and slammed the door. They'd only been driving for an hour when Sam announced, "I'm hungry."

Dean figured his Dad would just ignore him and keep driving, eager to get to his next hunt. But instead, John pulled over at a roadside dinner and parked the car. "Me too."

Dad and Sam began to walk into the diner, but Dean stayed in the Impala. He was panicking-he couldn't eat in front of his family! Especially not carb-loaded, fat-saturated food! He'd become even fatter than he was-he'd have to find a way out of this.

"Dean, are you coming?" Sam asked, waiting by the door. "Cm'on, it smells good."

Dean opened the door of the Impala and ambled slowly towards the diner. Sam was right-it smelled delicious, and Dean's mouth watered. His stomach began to growl, and he thought _a burger wouldn't really hurt my diet. _Dean would order a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake, his favorite. It'd be okay because he would run a few miles later. They took a seat at a table, and the waitress handed them menus.

"Would you guys like anything to drink?" she asked.

"Can I have a Pepsi, please?" Sam requested, and Dean was jealous. The skinny little brat didn't realize how lucky he was to be able to drink that delicious, calorie-rich drink-Dean would've given his right arm to be able to order something like that.

"Sure, sugar," she responded, scribbling the order down on her order pad. She smiled-everyone smiled at Sammy, because the kid was so goddamn _skinny_ and adorable. "Can I get anything for you, sir?"

"Black coffee, please," John flashed his heartbreaker grin, the one that got them 20% off of their meals sometimes and a number scribbled on the tab.

"Of course," she smiled back, and turned to Dean. Immeaditly, he saw her expression change into one of disgust-that reminded him of how fat he was, and how much weight he needed to lose. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Just ice water, please," Dean asked. He'd read an article in the paper about how your body burned calories trying to warm it up, and water had no calories. It was the perfect drink.

"Okay. Be right back for your order," the waitress-her nametag said her name was Erin-turned towards the kitchen.

"I think I'll get a double bacon cheeseburger," John announced. "What're you getting, Sammy?"

"Chicken tenders," Sam answered. "Dean, what are you going to get?"

Dean studied the menu, looking for a suitable option. God, he wished that they put a calorie count next to the options. He looked at the salads-garden, greek, or caesar. If he got a salad, it would probably be about two hundred calories with dressing-but if he didn't put dressing on a garden salad, it would probably be around forty or fifty.

"I think I'm going to get a garden salad without the dressing," Dean answered, putting down his menu.

Sam laughed, laying his menu on the table. "Watching your weight, Deana?"

Dean forced a chuckle. "Definately, Sammy."

"But seriously, Dean-what's with the salad?" John asked his already skinny son, worried. "You feeling okay?"

"I think I'm coming down with something," Dean lied, trying not to blush. "I thought it would be easy on my stomach."

"Alright," John replied, adding his menu to the pile. "If you feel any worse, let me know."

_Like you care, _Dean thought. The waitress came, gave them their drinks, and took out her order pad. "Can I take your orders?"

"I'll have a bacon cheeseburger," John responded.

"Okay," Erin scribbled down the order on the pad.

"Can I have chicken tenders, please?" Sam asked.

"Of course, sugar," she wrote down the order. "What would you like, buddy?"

"Can I have a garden salad with no dressing?" Dean requested.

"Sure," she responded. "I'll be right back."

She collected the menus and left.

"So, what're you hunting?" Sam asked after a few minutes, to break the silence.

"We're not sure," Dad answered, glancing at Dean. Dean was usually the one to ask questions-what was up with him? "Dean, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean responded. "Is it a demon?"

"The signs are there," John answered. "If it is, it's a powerful one."

"Be careful," Dean warned as their food came out.

"Always am," John grunted.

"Here's your burger," Erin place a huge plate with what looked like a two pound burger and a mountain of fries in front of John. The chicken tenders were heaped in a massive pile, accompanied with a mouth-watering heap of fries. And then Dean's salad was placed in front of him.

It came in an impossibley small bowl, and the lettuce seemed to be wilting. Dean was excited and dejected at the same time-because it was small, it probably only had twenty or thirty calories, but he was starving. Never the less, he dug into the food, making sure to eat slowly and take a sip of water between bites.

After eating the meal, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. He looked at his cuts-they were no longer bleeding, but they looked pretty gory underneath the flourescent lights. He rinsed them in the sink quickly. Then, rolling up his sleeves, he bent over the toilet, stuck two fingers down his throat, and threw up his meal.

Sure, it was only twenty or thirty calories-but they were calories he couldn't afford. He needed to lose as much weight as possible, as quickly as he could. He didn't want to burden Sam and Dad with a fat failure-he wanted to be absolutely perfect for them. But somehow, he doubted he would ever be good enough.

ABCDEFG

Six hours later, they pulled into the driveway at Singer Salvage Yard. Sam was asleep, and Dean was pretending to-he didn't want to be forced to look at his father and see his disappointment. However, he could still feel it-it seemed to radiate off his father. In a way, it was great inspiration to become thin-when he was thin, he'd make his father proud.

"Wake up, Dean," John said, getting out of the Impala.

Dean snapped his eyes open and gently shook Sam awake-the boy's eyes opened, and he stumbled out of the car to grab his bag.

Dean followed Sam into the house and was immeadiately assaulted by the scent of apple pie, his favorite. _Oh God, Bobby. What're you trying to do to me?_

The grizzled hunter entered the hallway, and Sam threw himself at him. "Uncle Bobby!"

"Hey, runt," Bobby chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. He gently pushed the boy aside and walked towards Dean. "Dang, ya got a foot taller on me!"

"Hey, Bobby," Dean grinned and returned Bobby's hug. "How're you?"

"You're gettin' too skinny there, Winchester," Bobby said. "I can feel your ribs."

Dean sighed. Bobby was obviously just trying to be nice to the fattest Winchester-he appreciated it, but he wanted to actually _be _skinny.

"So, boys," Bobby continued. "I've made your favorites-apple pie and double chocolate cookies."

"Win!" Sam exclaimed, moving towards the kitchen. Bobby chuckled.

"Guess we should probably follow him, huh?" Bobby asked, smiling at Dean. "Ya want me to get you a slice of pie?"

Yes, Dean did. More than anything. But that slice of pie wouldn't do anything to help his diet-it would just turn to more fat. "Actually, I'm not feeling that great. I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Ya sure? I made it for you," Bobby asked, looking dejected. Dean felt terrible-Bobby went to all sorts of trouble for him, and he just hurt him. But he couldn't eat all those calories. He just couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Dean apologized, walking up the stairs. "I'll have some tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright," Bobby replied, the grin returning. "I'll check in on you later."

Dean walked up the stairs and towards the room that had come to belong to him and Sammy. Bobby had let them decorate it, pick the paint, and the bedset. It was nice having somewhere to come home to. On the wall, Sam had hung posters of soccer players-they were thin, muscular, _strong. _How he wished he could look like that.

Dean hadn't been lying to Bobby-he actually did feel like crap. He was exhausted, hungry, and had a terrible taste in his mouth from throwing up earlier. He walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth-there weren't any calories in toothpaste, right? But when he looked in the mirror, he was repulsed. It struck him how disgusting he was-no wonder Dad didn't want him on this job! He looked like a whale!

Quickly, desperately, he bent over the toilet bowl and shoved his fingers down his throat. It was easier this time, and he was soon done-there was nothing in his stomach but water. But there was a knocking at the door.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice questioned, and the door knob began to turn.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters. **

**Thanks for all of the awesome reviews!**

_Shit! _Dean thought, hitting his knees in front of the bowl. He'd play the sick card, and say he was feeling nauseous.

Bobby barged into the bathroom and crouched by Dean. "Ya okay, Ace?" 

Dean smiled up weakly at the grizzled hunter. "Yeah, Bobby. My stomach just doesn't feel all that great."

"Well, you should lie down," Bobby insisted, helping Dean up. "Go on in your room and catch up on some rest."

Dean silently walked back into his room and closed the door behind him. For a moment, Bobby stood outside of it, concerned-but then he walked downstairs, leaving Dean alone. The second Bobby was gone, Dean hopped out of bed and began running in place.

_Gotta burn those calories. Every drop of sweat brings me a little closer to being thinner. _After ten minutes of running, he started doing jumping jacks. He was vaguely aware of how ridiculous he probably looked, exercising like a nutcase in a bedroom. But he didn't care. All he noticed was his reflection in the mirror, ugly, fat, and imperfect.

_It's no wonder no one cares about me, _Dean thought, tears in his eyes. _I'm not sweet and small, like Sam. I'm not strong like Dad. There's nothing to love. _

That realization brought him to his knees, and before he knew it he was sobbing-deep, racking sobs that shook his entire body. He was glad Sam wasn't there to see this. He was glad they couldn't here him. They wouldn't have to see him being weak, wouldn't have any more reasons to hate him. God, he'd failed his family. The one thing he loved above everything else.

His sobs eventually died down to quiet cries, then hiccups, and then he was silent. He was exhausted-he just wanted to sleep, but it wouldn't come. His mind was racing, and his body was refusing to give in to his exhaustion. He was hungry. Ridiculously hungry. But at the same time, food held no appeal for him. The posters on the wall-he wanted to be like them, strong and muscular and _thin. _

_This is ridiculous, _Dean thought. _I need to eat. _He was right-he did need to eat, because he hadn't had anything all day except lettuce. He walked down the stairs, into the kitchen where Bobby and Sam were sitting chowing down on cookies, like a perfect little family. _Everyone likes Sam better than me. _

He opened the fridge and peered inside-front and center, there was a plate of leftover pizza. His mouth watered, and he reached for it-

But immediately, his hand fell back. All of a sudden, the food wasn't so tempting-all he saw was his reflection, fat and hideous. He didn't want the food-he wanted a decent body.

"Ya hungry, Dean?" Bobby asked, standing up. "I can whip up something for ya."

"No thanks, Bobby," Dean answered, reaching for a water bottle. Water had no calories. Water would help make him skinny. He could have as much water as he wanted, and he'd never gain a pound. "I think I'll go read a book or something."

"You? Read a book?" Sam guffawed, reaching for another cookie. "Dean, the only books I'm ever seen you read are about demons, ghosts, and exorcisms."

"There's a first time for everything," Dean shrugged, walking out of the kitchen. He was halfway to the stairs when a dizzy spell hit him. The room seemed to be spinning, and things were going out of focus. A gray haze closed in from the edges of his eyesight, and he crouched to the ground. _I will not black out. I will not black out. _Slowly, the gray moved out, and he could see. He slowly stood up.

"Dean? You okay?" Bobby called from the other room. Dean was grateful that he hadn't seen that little episode-he would've force-fed him soup, or something equally fattening.

"I'm fine, Bobby," Dean responded, walking up the steps.

He entered his room and laid down on the bed, ignoring his throbbing headache and his empty stomach. It was only day one, and he was miserable.

_I've just got to work harder, _Dean thought. _And I'll be thin. _

ABCDEFG

Bobby was worried about Dean.

Bobby had never known Dean to willingly admit that he wasn't feeling well, and for him to turn down pie was unheard of. The kid had only been here for four hours, and he'd already thrown up. Bobby didn't know what to do, other than let him ride it out.

He pulled another plate of cookies out of the ovens-they were for Dean, his favorite double chocolate ones. He'd leave them on the nightstand in case the boy needed a snack.

Walking into the bedroom the boys shared, the first thing he saw was Dean sprawled out on the bed. Poor guy was exhausted-John really didn't allow him to relax, and he was just a kid. Bobby would have to talk to John about overtaxing his kids.

He laid the cookies on the nightstand between the two beds-originally, they'd been on opposite ends of the room, but Sam and Dean had always pushed them close together. He was about to leave the room when he heard Dean hiccuping quietly.

"Dean? Ya okay?" Bobby asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean lied.

"Do you want me to get you an aspirin or something?" Bobby asked.

"Please," Dean asked, rolling over.

"Okay," Bobby agreed, walking out of the room. "I'll be right back."

The second Bobby exited the room, Dean stood up and grabbed three of the cookies. He shoved them in his pocket and walked over to the bathroom. Crumbling them up into pieces, he threw them down into the bowl and flushed them before hurrying back to his room.

He hadn't been back in bed for two seconds before Bobby came back, holding two pills and a glass of water. "These should knock ya right out. They're some type of aspirin and sleep medication."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, throwing his head back to swallow the pills. "Cookies are good. You make a good Mr. Mom."

"Just 'cause your sick don't mean I won't smack ya outside the head if you get smart with me, boy," Bobby warned, but Dean knew he wouldn't. Bobby didn't have the heart to do something like that. "Now get some rest."

Bobby left the room, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts once again. But fortunately, after a few minutes, the drugs took hold and he fell into a deep slumber.

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Bobby was a sneaky bastard, and he knew it.

The medicine he had just given Dean wasn't just aspirin-it was hardcore sleeping pills mixed with a children's dose of Oxycontin, prescribed to Dean after he had broken four ribs, his leg, and his arm during a particularly nasty hunt for a vengeful spirit. It had knocked Dean out then, and it would knock him out now so he wouldn't have to deal with the nausea and migraine.

Bobby had a sneaking suspicion that something else was wrong with Dean, in addition to being sick. He was in tune to that boy- he knew everything he was thinking, before he even thought it sometimes. He could feel the pain and sadness radiate off of Dean-maybe he was upset because of a fight with Sam? Or because John hadn't brought him on this hunt?

That's when Bobby realized that it was the day after the anniversary. Dean was in pain-he missed his mother, and John had probably been out getting wasted that night instead of comforting his boys. _That's it, _Bobby thought. If Dean wasn't out of this slump within the next few days, he'd have a heart-to-heart with him.

ABCDEFG

The next morning, Dean's alarm went off at three. He rolled over and turned it off quickly, to avoid waking up Sammy or Bobby. He stood up and walked over to his dresser, looking for suitable clothes to wear. A baggy pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt that was three sizes too big for him won the prize, so Dean quickly pulled them on. Silently, stealthily, he walked out of the room and down the stairs.

He made sure to be quiet as he walked outside. When he was sure that no one inside had heard him, he began to run.

Today was day two of his diet plan. He'd planned out everything last night as Sammy slept-safe foods he could eat, exercise routines, and ways to get out of eating. He was also going to run ten miles a day-five in the morning and five in the afternoon. With this diet, fat would melt off of him. He decided to allow an apples a day-he'd slice it up and have two pieces every four hours. He was going to drink eight water bottles a day, because water made you feel full.

He'd just hit his two and a half mile marker, so he turned around and began jogging back to the house. He looked at his watch-it was 3:15, and Bobby didn't get up until five. He had plenty of time to get back.

He sprinted near the end-it was getting cold out, and he wanted to be there in case Sam woke up to go to the bathroom or something. He stripped down to his boxers and climbed back into bed. A grin spread on his face-he was tired, but he'd probably burned four hundred calories. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn't-his mind was still racing, and the pills Bobby had given him last night had worn off. But he couldn't go downstairs, because when Bobby woke up, he'd be worried.

He just had to wait until five thirty, the usual time he got up. He'd taken to helping Bobby feed the dogs-his personal favorite was Rufus, the puppy he'd named the last time he was over. Sam had named one too-the nerd had named it Henry, after King Henry VIII. What a loser.

The minutes ticked by slowly as he listened to Sammy's breathing. He checked his watch frequently; 3:35, 3:42, 3:51, 4:00, 4:03, 4:12, 4:39...

It seemed to take forever for the display to change to 5:30, but when it did Dean was already dressed. He sprinted down the stairs, but made sure to amble slowly into the kitchen-if he acted like he was sick, Bobby wouldn't make him eat.

"Mornin', Bobby," Dean yawned, reaching for a cup of black coffee. He didn't like to waste his calories on pointless things, like milk. "What're we doing today?"

"Well, we gotta feed the pups," Bobby started. "And I was going to see if maybe we could go swimmin' later."

Dean grinned. When the boys were on the road, they really didn't have time to do much-swimming was impossible, because who would bring them to a pool? But whenever they went to Bobby's, he made sure to bring them out at least once. Sam loved it, and would be psyched-Dean was thrilled because swimming burned five hundred calories an hour, if you swam at a fast enough pace.

"Want me to make ya something to eat?" Bobby asked, pouring another cup of coffee. "Ya didn't have anything yesterday but cookies."

"No thanks, Bobby. My stomach's still feeling kind of iffy," Dean lied, sitting at the table. "I'll grab something later."

"Cm'on. Just a bit of toast for me, please?" Bobby pleaded.

"Bobby, I don't know if I can handle it," Dean answered, and it was true. He didn't know if he could handle having the seventy calories from a piece of white toast in his system without panicking.

"Please, Dean," Bobby asked, popping the bread in the toaster. "It'll be easy to eat."

Dean really couldn't fight Bobby on this one, or he might find out his secret. So when the toast popped out, he hesitantly grabbed it and took a small bite. Chew. Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow.

Immediately, he felt guilty. That toast would make him fat. He had no self control. He almost began crying as he finished the rest of the slice, which almost immediately threatened to come back up. If Bobby noticed it, he didn't say anything-he just walked outside, motioning for Dean to follow him.

But Dean had one more thing to do. He ran over to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet. This time, he didn't even have to stick a finger down his throat to vomit. Crying, he slid down to the floor and clutched his knees to his chest.

_Fat. Fat. Fat. You're fat. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

After a moment, Dean stood up and flushed the toilet. He splashed some cold water on his face, took a deep breath, and decided he really didn't want to go outside right now. If he did, Bobby would be able to tell that he'd just thrown up, and might make him eat something else And he really didn't feel like eating something else.

He walked upstairs and reached into his bag for his pocketknife. Walking over to the bathroom, he sat down on the ground and rolled up his sleeve. He pulled the knife across his forearm, leaving a beautiful line of scarlet red blood. He cut a little deeper the next time, watching the beautiful blood spill down his arm, releasing his pain. He made a few more cuts before putting the blade back in his pocket.

He knew these cuts wouldn't kill him-they weren't on his wrist, and they weren't nearly deep enough to hit a vein or artery. But they were deep enough to bleed-a hell of a lot. He stripped and hopped into the shower quickly, turning the water on cold so he would shiver and burn calories.

The cold water hit his cuts, rinsing the dried blood off his arm and stinging them. He shivered and reached for the shampoo and soap to take a shower. He took as long as possible-the longer he shivered, the more calories he would burn. The more calories he burned, the better he would feel.

After about thirty minutes, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel. His cuts were still bleeding, but slowly-he covered them with a huge piece of gauze and taped it down. He pulled his sweatshirt and pants back on and ran downstairs. He had to make Bobby think he ate.

He grabbed a couple of eggs out of the refridgerator and fried them in the pan, adding a lot of butter so the scent would be thick in the house. Once the eggs were done, he put them on a plate and placed the frying pan in the sink. He popped the yolks of the eggs with a fork, so the yellow goo would run over the plate-then, he threw the eggs out and buried them under the rest of the trash. Placing the dish in the sink, he walked over to the living room and turned on the TV. But he stayed standing up, because standing burned more calories than sitting.

Around nine, Bobby came back inside. "Dean? Where are ya?"

Dean dived on the couch and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He heard Bobby walked into the living room and turn off the TV. A warm, rough hand came down on his forehead gently, checking his temperture. And then, Bobby's gruff voice whispered, "I'd be pissed you left the dishes for me if I wasn't so happy you ate somethin'."

Bobby left the room, and Dean's eyes snapped open. The scent of butter, rich and thick, was sickening. He needed air, before he spewed.

He hopped up and ran outside, out onto the porch. _Deep breaths, Dean. Deep breaths. _But it wasn't enough, and he gagged. There wasn't anything left to throw up, and all he gave up was a bit of water.

"You okay, Dean?" Bobby asked gently, laying a hand on his back. "Did'ja throw up?"

"No," Dean lied, leaning on the post. "I just needed some fresh air."

"Alright," Bobby accepted his answer. "If ya wanna go get Sam, we'll go down to the hotel to go swimming."

"Okay," Dean agreed, going inside and walking up the stairs. "Sammy, get your little bitch butt..."

Suddenly, the room began to spin. He blinked-but the walls of the room kept spinning. The ends of his vision were tinged with gray, and it was closing in, getting darker. He collapsed, and the small tunnel of light disappeared.

ABCDEFG

"Dean? Can ya hear me, boy?" Dean heard Bobby's voice through a haze of white noise. It was hard to open his eyes-it took all of his effort. But slowly, he did.

"B-Bobby?" Dean asked, confused. "What's going on?"

"Ya passed out on us," Bobby answered, taking his trucker's cap off and running a hand through his hair. "Nearly gave your brother and me a stroke. You've been out for five minutes."

"Wow," Dean sighed. He tried to sit up, but Bobby gently pushed him back down.

"Lie down for a while and rest," he insisted. "I think we need to go into town and see a doctor."

_No! _Dean thought, panicked. "Bobby, seriously? I'm just dehydrated or something from this goddamn flu. I'll go to bed, and it'll pass in a day or two."

"Are ya sure?" Bobby asked, pulling his cap back on. "I don't want 'cha getting sicker."

"I've been far worse than this, Bobby. I just need a few hours rest, and I'll be fine," Dean insisted, struggling to his feet. For a horrible moment, the room spun around him-but then, it slowed to a stop. "Could you stil take Sammy swimming, though? He's been looking forward to it."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked, walking Dean to his room. "We could wait 'til tomorrow, so you could come."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean answered.

"Alright. Speaking of the runt, I'll get him up here to prove that you're alive," Bobby grinned. "Go lie down. Sam'll be up in a minute."

Dean sat down on the bed and held his head in his hand. What had made him pass out-not eating, or had he cut too deep? He rolled up his sleeve-no blood had soaked through the gauze, and when he peeked under it, he realized they had almost stopped bleeding. So it was hunger that made him faint like a bitch.

He rolled down his sleeve just in time, because Sammy walked in a split second later. The kid had been crying-his face was red and blotchy, and his nose was running.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Sammy asked, sitting down next to him and hugging him. 

"I'm fine, squirt," he laughed, ruffling Sam's hair. "You worry too much."

"Are you sure?" Sam sniffled, looking up at Dean. "You hit your head pretty hard."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Remember all those times Dad said I had a thick skull? Worked for me this time," Dean joked pathetically. "Go swimming. Have a good time with Bobby."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"Sammy. I'll be fine," Dean insisted. "Now go. Have fun."

"Alright," Sam nodded and gave Dean a quick hug. "Dean, you're too skinny. I can feel your ribs."

"You've always been able to do that, Sammy," Dean laughed. "Now go do me a favor and have a good time."

"Okay, Dean," Sam smiled. He walked over to the dresser and reached for a bathing suit. "Rest, okay?"

"Got it, Mom," Dean joked.

A few minutes later, he heard the front door slam and the truck's engine roar to life. Dean got out of bed and walked downstairs. He needed to find a scale, and quickly. He knew that Bobby had one-he'd seen it the last time he came over. He opened a closet, and sure enough, there it was.

He took a deep breath and carried it into the bathroom. Moment of truth. Stripping down to his boxers, he stepped on.

The red arrow quivered for a moment and then stuck at 114. Six pounds. He'd lost six pounds, after two days of starving and exercisng. He was embarrassed for himself.

He picked up the scale and put it back in the closet. He'd have to work harder.

All of a sudden, all he wanted to do was _run. _Run as fast as he could, for as long as he could. He needed to escape, to lose the fat that was keeping him trapped within his body.

So he did. He sprinted out of the door, up a path, and for as long as possible until he collapsed underneath a tree. He was tired-he figured he'd just run about three miles. He took a few deep breaths and started back.

_Thirty more pounds, Dean. Thirty more pounds. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, no matter how much I wish it were true. **

**Thanks for all of the amazing reviews!**

Two weeks later, Dean was sitting in the middle of a crowded middle school cafeteria, watching other kids eat enviously. He was sitting at a table in the corner of the cafeteria, chewing a piece of sugar-free gum-it only had five calories a stick, and it helped to curb his cravings.

Bobby had enrolled them in school the weekend before, to "give 'em somethin' to do" while they waited for John to return. Dean knew what that meant-John wouldn't be returning for a while, and Bobby didn't want them thinking about it. Little did Bobby know that John's absence was all Dean was thinking about; as he lied awake at night, it was the only thing that was on his mind. Did John leave because he was embarrassed by Dean, or did he actually have a hunt? When he returned, would he bring both Sam and Dean on the road with him, or would he leave Dean behind? Sam was the child that Dad always worried about, because Sam was the one Mom had died for. What was Dean, other than a burden?

Dean was starting to feel frustrated. _He'd tried._ He'd always taken care of Sam, always put the family first-but it wasn't enough. No one wanted him.

He picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Inside was his razor, hidden inside an Altoids case-he kept it there in case he needed a bit of light relief before class. It helped keep him grounded, knowing he had a security blanket to fall back on.

"Where are you going, Dean?" Mr. Greene, his English teacher, asked. Dean liked Mr. Greene-he seemed to be a pretty good guy who honestly cared about his students.

"Bathroom, sir," Dean answered.

"Alright. Did you do your English homework?" Mr. Greene joked-Dean always did his English homework. It was the only class he even tried in anymore-the rest of them just didn't seem worth it.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered, forcing a smile. He walked down the hall and turned left, towards the bathroom. He walked into the handicap stall and placed his backpack on the hook.

He unzipped his bag and reached for his Altoids case. Underneath the waxy paper, his blade was taped down. He pulled it out of the case and rolled up his sleeves.

Over the past few days, he'd cut a few times-there were at least forty cuts on each of his arms, all in various stages of healing. He'd had a couple of close calls-the other day, Sam had walked in and almost seen his cuts. He'd been able to roll down his sleeves, but he made sure from that day on to lock the door behind himself.

He found a spot on his left arm and laid his razor there, contemplating the cut. He'd come to realize that waiting could be the best part. When the temptation became too great, he pressed the blade down and pulled it across his skin.

First came the adrenaline rush, because he'd gotten away with something he shouldn't be doing. That ended quickly, and gave way to the numbing effect that always came. That numb was the main reason he cut-the blade managed to slice through all of his emotions, help him let them out. He'd stay numb for at least a few minutes-long enough to take the edge off of his stresses. The guilt would probably hit in English, when he realized how fucked up he was. He'd swear he wouldn't do it again. But he would.

He packed up his tools and exited the bathroom. The bell for fifth period had rang-he had English on the second floor. The halls were empty, other than the druggies smoking weed by the door into wood shop. Passing them, he wondered what value smoking those blunts held for them-how could anyone enjoy self-destruction?

He walked into the classroom and took his seat at the back. Mr. Greene motioned for him to pull out his copy of To Kill A Mockingbird- Dean just shook his head. Mr. Greene shrugged and looked back down at his book.

The kid next to him-Dean thought his name was James-was eating gummy bears out of a bag. He offered the bag to Dean, but Dean just shook his head and smiled. Even if he wanted the gummy bears-which he didn't-he wouldn't have been able to keep them down. Anything other than celery, lettuce, and water was too much for his stomach. Sometimes, he even found himself "baby-barfing"-bile rose in his throat at random intervals, but then he swallowed it back down. But still, even with all of the side effects, it was worth it. He was losing weight.

"Okay, for homework tonight answer questions three through six in your packet. Don't forget, your term project is due in two more months! It's not something you can put off until the night before," Mr. Greene announced as the bell rang. _Study period next_, Dean thought, relieved. During study, he usually went to the library. It was quiet, and he could sit there and just think. "Dean, could you hang back for a minute?"

While everyone left the room, looking back at him curiously, Dean bowed his head. He _hated _being the center of attention-he usually left that to Sammy. Why did Mr. Greene want to talk to him? Was his grade slipping? Was he being disrespectful? Did he, like everyone else, realize that Dean was no good and didn't deserve his attention?

Mr. Greene closed the door and walked over to Dean. He sat in the desk in front of Dean, watched for a moment as the teenager looked down at the floor. He'd noticed Dean's depression, but he'd attributed it to typical teenage angst. But today, as Dean entered the classroom, he'd noticed something in his eyes. A deep despair, something a thirteen-year-old should not know. He'd seen this before in another student, a twelve year old girl-she had killed herself before he had been able to intervene. He wasn't going to let that happen again.

"Dean?" he questioned gently. "Can you look at me?"

Dean looked up at him.

"Dean, what's going on?" he asked. "You've been quiet and withdrawn. I've talked to a couple of your other teachers-they've noticed it too. We're worried about you, but we can't help if you don't tell us what's wrong."

Dean took a deep breath and tried to control the urge to bolt out of the room. There was no way he wanted to lie to his favorite teacher-the only teacher that actually liked him-but he also didn't want to admit to being weak. _Caught between a rock and a hard place,_ Dean thought, chuckling to himself.

"Dean?" Mr. Greene asked, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Greene," Dean answered, grinning. _God, I must look like a maniac, _he thought. "I've just been really tired lately."

It was a lame excuse, and Dean knew it. But Mr. Greene just nodded, accepting the story.

"Well, if you need to talk, you can come to me anytime," he told the boy. Dean's story was bullshit, and he knew it-but he wasn't going to force the child to talk if he wasn't ready. "Let me get you a pass."

He wrote out a pass for Dean and watched as the boy walked out of the room. Something was up with Dean, and he wouldn't rest until he found out what it was.

ABCDEFG

Instead of heading straight for the library, Dean stopped by the bathroom. He needed a minute to fucking _breathe. _He turned on the cold water and splashed his face, leaning over the sink.

God, why couldn't he just fake being okay? He tried hard, but somehow people always saw through his fake smiles. All he was good at was calling attention to himself. It was no wonder Dad had left him behind-he was sure to attract all sorts of unwanted attention from CPS workers and cops.

He felt the bile rising in his throat. It didn't take much to make him vomit these days-sometimes, even the scent of food set him off. He threw up in the sink quickly-it was only water- and rinsed out his mouth. There was only one more class after study. He could do this.

He walked out of the bathroom and to the library, where he sat down at a table and took out a piece of paper. He hadn't even begun to brainstorm possible topics for his term paper-in the past week, he'd been too busy freaking out about Dad and counting calories. He hadn't even slept in three days-if he could just lay his head down for a minute-

The bell rang-he had five minutes to get to his last class of the day. _Awesome. _

ABCDEFG

The final bell of the day seemed to ring all too soon. Dean left his math class, and went to his locker to dump his books. He grabbed his backpack and walked out into the parking lot, where the bus to the meet was loading.

"Winchester! Load up!" the other track coach, Mr. Evans, shouted. "We're already running late!"

_Of course, _Dean thought. _I always fuck up. I'm holding the team back. _It didn't matter that he wasn't the only person who was late for the bus-he blamed himself. He climbed onto the school bus and grabbed a seat by Tyler, one of the kids that was doing the 4 x 100.

"Are you excited, Dean?" Tyler asked, smiling. "We're going to kill at this meet!"

Dean just smiled and nodded. The bus began to move, and Dean looked out the window. Maybe, by some miracle, his father would be at this meet. Maybe he'd be happy with him. Maybe Dean would finally feel like he was worth some trouble.

Dean was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even realize when they pulled into the parking lot at Kevin T. Sterling High School. Tyler had to grab his arm and half drag him out of the bus.

"Come on, Dean," he said, handing him his backpack. "Meet starts in a half hour."

Dean nodded and followed the rest of the team into the locker room. The rest of the guys were changing anywhere, like they didn't care about it-but then again, they were muscular and thin.

He walked over to one of the stalls and changed into the tank top and shorts-was it just him, or did they suddenly feel loser? Either way, it didn't matter-his uniform was a medium, when it should be a small.

"Winchester! Stop checking yourself out in the mirror! Coach wants to begin the pep talk!" Ryan, one of the seniors, exclaimed.

Blushing a deep crimson red, Dean stuffed his clothes into his backpack and hurried into the main locker room. "Sorry, sir."

"It's fine, Dean," Coach Greene replied, smiling at him. "Okay, guys. This is the fourth meet of the year. We've done well so far, and I know we can beat this team. You guys have made me proud to be your coach."

There was silence for a minute, and then the team began clapping.

"Let's kick some ass, guys!" Eric shouted, and the team hustled out of the locker room.

"Dean, could you hang back for a minute?" Coach Greene asked. He motioned for him to sit down. "Dean, you've gotten really skinny. Really, unhealthily skinny. What's going on?"

"Nothing, sir," Dean lied. "I've been really sick lately, and I lost some weight. I'm trying to put it back on."

"Dean, I think you're lying to me," Greene responded, staring at the boy. "I'm sorry, but I don't think it's safe for you to run today."

"But coach-" Dean protested, looking up. "My brother's here. I _need _to do well for him."

"I'm sorry, Dean," he apologized, and he meant it. He didn't relish the thought of ruining a teenager's dreams. He laid a hand on the boy's shoulders."You can kick ass in the next meet, okay?"

With tears in his eyes, Dean nodded. Coach Greene smiled at him.

"You want to come watch the events?" he offered. If Dean couldn't run today, he could at least watch.

Dean shook his head.

"Alright," Greene sighed, walking out of the locker room. "I'll talk to you later, Dean."

Once Coach Greene had left the room, Dean followed him. He'd be running the fifty, whether Coach liked it or not.

The fifty was the first event, so he walked to the starting line. Coach's back was turned, talking to another student. And then the starting gun was fired.

Suddenly, Dean was in the zone. All he noticed was the finish line, fifty meters in front of him. Then thirty-then twenty-only ten left-

There was really no competition. He was first by a landslide.

The crowd on the left side of the gym cheered, and a few of his teammates rushed over to congratulate him. He grinned.

He was walking back over to the starting line when Coach Greene appeared out of no where.

"Dean, what did I tell you?" he asked furiously, glaring at the boy. "You look terrible. Sit down."

"I feel fine, Coach," Dean protested, pulling his arm away from him. That was when Greene noticed the cuts.

"What're those?" he asked, his voice gentle now.

"Nothing. The cat scratched me," Dean lied, covering them up with his other arm.

"Dean, did you do that to yourself?" Greene asked.

Dean didn't know what to say; it was like his brain was on overload. The room began spinning, and the screeching of the crowd became an annoying buzz, and he collapsed.

The last thing he saw before he passed out was the Coach crouching by him, screaming his name.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

Bobby sat by the hospital bed, waiting for Dean to wake up. He wrung his well-worn trucker's cap in his hands, and then ran a hand over his head. He sighed-how had he let Dean become so sick on his watch? The boy had _fainted_ in the middle of the gym, in front of at least four hundred people. Now that Bobby was looking, he noticed Dean had lost a lot of weight. Not only that, the doctors said he was cutting himself.

Bobby looked at Dean's arms once again and grimaced. He didn't know exactly why Dean would want to hurt himself, but he did know exactly how low his self-esteem was. Maybe it had started after a fight with Sam, or maybe he'd just felt like John didn't want him. Bobby could only hope that he wasn't the reason that Dean felt so horrible.

Bobby looked at his watch-Dean had been out for at least an hour. He'd sent Sam down to the cafeteria with a nurse to get a snack, because he didn't want Dean to be embarrassed when he woke up. It would be difficult enough for the boy to talk to Bobby about the scars and open wounds on his arms.

Dean was beginning to stir-Bobby moved the seat closer to the bed, so when Dean woke up he'd be the first thing he'd see. He knew exactly how much the boy hated being in the hospital. After a moment, Dean opened his eyes and stretched.

He must've noticed that he was wearing short sleeves, because he then buried them under the covers. He looked around the room, noted the IV in his arm, and looked up at Bobby.

"Mornin', son," Bobby greeted him. "You can take your arms out from under the blankets. I saw them."

ABCDEFG

Dean had never been so humiliated.

Not only had he passed out _in the middle of a track meet, _he had been taken to the hospital. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt, which not only showcased his fat for the entire world, _it showed his cuts. _And now Bobby knew how weak he was.

Tears filled his eyes, and he sobbed. He cried like he never had before, not even after his mother had died. "I'm sorry, Bobby."

"Dean, you don't have to be sorry for anything," Bobby replied, tears in his eyes. He walked over to the boy and gave him a hug, careful not to touch any wires. "I'm sorry for not noticing how much you were hurting."

Dean cried on Bobby's shoulder for what felt like forever, but in reality it was probably only a few minutes. After that, he dried his eyes and leaned back on the pillow.

"So, you ready to tell me about this-this _cutting_ thing?" Bobby asked gently.

Dean nodded and took a deep breath. "I started about three weeks ago, after a fight with my Dad."

Bobby was furious at John Winchester-if he'd been there, Bobby would've kicked his ass. Exactly what did he say to make his son feel so worthless?

"Why didn't you tell me, Dean?" Bobby asked, hurt. _I should've helped him. I should've noticed. Why didn't I?_

"I was afraid that you'd hate me," Dean answered, his voice cracking and tears glistening in his eyes. "I don't want you to think I'm weak."

"Dean, you're not weak," Bobby assured him, pulling his hat back on. "If anything, you've been too strong. You're like my son, boy, and if you go killin' yourself I don't know what I'll do."

"You mean it?" Dean asked hesitantly, looking up.

Bobby's heart nearly broke, right then and there. How could Dean not know how much Bobby cared about him? He'd loved the boy since the day he met him, nine years ago. He cared about _both _of the boys, but between him and Dean there was a special bond-he knew it.

He'd always thought that Dean had too.

"Of course I mean it," Bobby replied without hesitation, choking on his own tears.

Dean smiled through his tears, and Bobby walked over to the boy and pulled him into a bear hug. He'd make sure that this stopped _now. _

He wouldn't let Dean hurt himself again.

ABCDEFG

It was around ten before he left Dean's hospital room.

He needed to call some one to watch Sam while he stayed with Dean in the hospital, and of course the only people who Sam actually knew were eight hours away. The kid had been through a lot today, so Bobby really didn't want to leave him with a sitter.

But he also promised Dean that he wouldn't let Sammy see him like this.

He walked over to the payphone and dialed Jim's number. The pastor answered on the first ring.

"Hello, Pastor Jim speaking," he said.

"Hey Jim, it's Bobby," he started, leaning against the wall. "Dean's in the hospital and I really need some one to watch Sammy so I can focus on Dean. Do you think you could do it?"

"Well, I personally cannot," Jim answered apologetically. "But I could send Caleb."

"That'd be great, Jim," Bobby sighed in relief. "Thanks so much."

"Alright, I'll send him on his way now," Jim replied. "And Bobby? Tell Dean to get well soon."

"Alright, Jim," Bobby said. "I'll talk to ya soon. Bye."

Bobby walked over to the waiting room, where Sam was sitting in a chair. The boy looked tired, but he wouldn't let himself rest. _Poor kid probably wants to go home. _

Bobby really didn't want to leave Dean in the hospital by himself, but he also didn't want to force Sammy to sit in a chair all night. The kid needed to go home and sleep in his own bed.

So Bobby went back up to the third floor and walked into Dean's room. He scrawled a note on a piece of paper for him and placed it on the end table next to the hospital bed, before looking back down at Dean. The teenager looked so frail that Bobby was afraid that if he bumped into the boy, he'd shatter into pieces.

"See you in the mornin', kiddo," he waved at the sleeping figure of Dean and walked out to bring Sammy home.

ABCDEFG

Dean woke up at 12:04-he needed to go to the bathroom. _Stupid IV, _he thought grumpily, getting out of bed reluctantly. When he was done, he walked back towards the bed-that's when he noticed that Bobby wasn't there.

At first, he figured the hunter had just gone to the cafeteria to get a coffee. But twenty minutes later, he noticed the note on the nightstand, printed in Bobby's messy handwriting.

_Dean,_

_Went to bring Sammy home.. I'll be back in the morning._

_Bobby_

Dean sighed-he didn't blame Bobby for wanting to get away from him. Hell, _he _didn't want to be stuck with himself. But still, it hurt to think that Bobby wanted to be around Sam than he wanted to be around Dean.

Of course, he didn't blame this on Sam-Sam was just doing what he did best, being absolutely frickin' adorable. He blamed himself, for being whiny and weak and worthless. It was no wonder Dad left.

This time he let himself sob, because there was no one else in the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." That belongs to Ridley C. James and the Brotherhood AU. **

**Thanks for the amazing response to this story!**

Bobby Singer was sitting at his kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and waiting for Caleb to arrive to watch Sammy. It was 4:51, and he was exhausted-but he couldn't sleep. He wanted to get back to Dean quickly, but he couldn't leave Sam alone.

"Caleb needs to get his ass down here," he muttered to himself.

At that moment, he heard a scream.

He ran upstairs and towards the boy's room; Sam was sitting up, sobbing into his hands. Bobby sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled the boy's hands away.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" he asked, concerned. "Nightmare?"

Sam just kept crying. Bobby pulled him into his chest and let him cry for a few minutes. When the boy's loud wails died down to quiet moans, Bobby gently pushed him away.

"You alright?" Bobby asked, and then smiled when Sam nodded. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

"I had a bad dream," Sam sniffled, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"What was it about?" Bobby inquired-he had seen Sammy have nightmares, but never one that made him scream like that.

"I dreamed..." Sam started, then began sobbing. "I dreamed that Dean died."

At that, tears welled in Bobby's eyes. He'd always known that Dean loved his brother beyond reason, but he had never seen that Sam returned that love. He wrapped his arms around the boy and rubbed his back reassuringly.

"Dean's not gonna die, midget," Bobby assured him. "We're gonna get him well, got it? He's gonna gain weight and get healthy."

"Promise?" Sammy questioned, looking Bobby in the eye.

"Promise," Bobby swore solemnly.

"Pinky promise," Sam insisted. Bobby laughed and linked his pinky to Sam's.

"Pinky promise," Bobby repeated. He ruffled Sam's hair. "Now get some sleep."

ABCDEFG

Caleb arrived twenty minutes later.

"Hey, Bobby," Caleb greeted him, collapsing into a kitchen chair.

"Hey, Reeves," Bobby replied. "You want somethin' to drink?"

"A beer would be great," Caleb answered, laying his head in his hands. "So what's going on with Deuce?"

"I'm not sure," Bobby sighed, handing the younger man a beer. "He's seemed a bit depressed since he got here, but I didn't really think much of it-I figured he missed John. He started wearing long sleeves and everything the day after."

"You couldn't have done anything, Bobby," Caleb assured him. "Deuce can be pretty slick when he wants to be."

"I know," Bobby replied, taking off his hat and wringing it in his hands. "It's just-he's like my own son, but I don't notice when he's _hurting _so bad that he's cutting himself? What kinda person does that make me?"

"Bobby, Dean loves you," Caleb responded. "Now one of us should probably get our asses over there and make sure he's okay."

"I'll go," Bobby said, grabbing his denim jacket off of the coat rack. "Keep an eye on Sammy."

"No, I was just going to let him stick his finger in an electrical outlet, maybe play with some matches," Caleb muttered, and Bobby grinned.

"We'll see how that works out for ya when John gets back, won't we?" Bobby chuckled as he walked out the door.

ABCDEFG

When Bobby got to the hospital, Dean had just woken up.

"Sorry about that, son," he apologized. "Sammy was practically falling asleep."

"It's alright," Dean responded, rubbing his eyes. "I'm just glad you came back."

"Why wouldn't I com back?" Bobby questioned. "Dean, you're one of the best kids I know."

"Bobby, you know two kids," Dean chuckled. "It's okay. I mean, I've been kind of a brat lately."

"Shut up, ya _idjit_," Bobby growled. "Let me rephrase that. Dean, you're one of the best _people _I know. There's no way I could ever just leave you. You're family, and-if you ever repeat this, I will throttle you-I love you."

"Really?" Dean asked, tears forming in his eyes.

"Yes, really, _ya idjit_," Bobby grinned.

At that moment, a young female doctor came sweeping into the room, wearing a white lab coat and carrying a clipboard. She had red hair, and green eyes-she was pretty. Bobby saw Dean's eyes pop, and he chuckled to himself.

"Hello, Mr. Singer," the woman offered her hand to Bobby. "I'm Dr. Corvetti, I'm the psychologist handling Dean's case."

"Hi, call me Bobby," he greeted her. "Mr. Singer was my father."

"Will do," Dr. Corvetti smiled. "Well, Bobby, Dean is doing well physically-he's a bit underweight, but it's nothing too serious and we think he passed out due to dehydration. We're mainly concerned about the cutting."

"Alright," Bobby nodded. "What should I do?" 

"Well, there are inpatient treatment programs out there," she answered, handing him brochures. "And we have a self-injury support group here twice a week."

"Dean, how do you feel about that?" Bobby asked him.

"I'd rather just go home with you," Dean answered. "I feel like I could work through this on my own."

"Dean, cutting is a serious issue," Dr. Corvetti lectured, which seriously pissed Dean off. Did she think he didn't _know _it was a big fucking deal? "You need help to get through this."

"Well, my _family _can help me through this," Dean countered, fuming. "Bobby, I want to go home."

Bobby turned to the doctor. "Medically, he's clear?"

"Yes," she answered hesitantly. "But Mr. Singer, it'd be better for him if he-"

"I think I'm going to listen to Dean on this one," Bobby interrupted. "Could you get the paperwork?"

And as the doctor left, Dean thanked his lucky stars that he'd be able to continue his diet. He fourteen pounds left to lose.

**I know this chapter was anticlimatic, but it's basically just to show the passage of time and how much Sam actually cares about Dean. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." That belongs to Ridley C. James and the Brotherhood AU. **

Two hours later, Dean and Bobby were on their way back to the house.

Dean was dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt that Bobby had brought to the hospital-it made him uncomfortable, because they fit too tightly. He'd gained two pounds while he was in the hospital because of the goddamn IV-however, no one had really been there to watch him eat. Whenever the orderly would bring his tray, he'd cut the food up into small pieces, throw about two-thirds of the plate in the trash, and then leave the rest for the nurse to pick up.

"You excited to get home?" Bobby asked, turning onto his street. "I was thinkin' we could order a pizza or somethin' to celebrate."

"I kinda really just want to sleep," Dean answered as he leaned forward to fiddle with the radio controls. "It's been a long couple days, you know?"

"I think you should eat with the family, kiddo," Bobby insisted, pulling into the driveway. "Sammy's excited. Come on, it'll just take a half hour or so."

"Fine," Dean grunted. He didn't want to go-hell, all he wanted to do was sleep-but he couldn't disappoint Sammy. "But I swear to God, if there are any more chick-flick moments I'm going to kill myself."

"Not funny, Dean," Bobby reprimanded him. "We're going to be keeping a close eye on you."

"Fine, Bobby," Dean sighed, stepping out of the car. "Wait-what do you mean, _we're_?"

"Oh, _shit,_" Bobby hissed. He'd never mentioned to Dean that Caleb was staying at the house.

"Bobby, what's going on?" Dean asked, his face blank. "Tell me!"

"Dean, don't you take that tone of voice-" Bobby began.

"THEN TELL ME WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON!" Dean shouted, furious.

"Whoa, what's going on out here?" Caleb queried, walking out of the house. As soon as Dean saw Caleb, his face turned a deep shade of crimson.

"YOU TOLD HIM?" Dean screamed, turning back to Bobby.

"Dean, some one had to watch Sammy," Bobby responded guilty. "Caleb's family. He just wants to help."

"How could you," Dean moaned, backing away. "I can't believe you'd do this to me." 

"Deuce, calm down," Caleb stepped in and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get something to eat." 

"I'm not hungry," Dean replied.

"You haven't eaten all day," Bobby reminded. Dean looked at him with a look of such hurt, such betrayal, such _ fury _that he was tempted to step back. "Dean, the doctor was worried about your weight loss. I know it's because you were sick a few days ago, but you gotta start putting on some-"

"I'm not fucking hungry," Dean snarled, backing away from Caleb. "But let's keep making a huge fucking deal over what I eat and how much I eat, it's far more important than the fact that Dad's been gone for two weeks and hasn't called."

With that, Dean ran into the woods.

"Shit," Caleb cursed as the boy turned away. Caleb followed, screaming, "Dean! _Dean!_"

ABCDEFG

Dean was practically flying through the woods, weaving between trees to avoid Caleb. He was beyond pissed off-he felt humiliated, betrayed, and insulted. Caleb and Bobby were talking behind his back. They probably were thinking about what a failure he was, how he failed to do even _this _right. They didn't give two shits about him-hell, no one did. They hadn't even figured out he wasn't eating.

Dean was forced to slow down as he attempted to sprint up a hill, and Caleb was gaining. He tried to speed up, but he couldn't. Caleb tackled him to the ground.

"You...through with...the marathon...for today...Deuce?" Caleb gasped, pinning him to the ground. "I don't...think...I could...handle that...again."

Dean nodded, and Caleb pulled him up. He dusted himself off and took a couple minutes to catch his breath. "How...far...did we run?"

"I'm not sure. At least a mile or two," Caleb guessed, running a hand over his sweaty face. "Bobby's probably back there somewhere stroking out."

"He's pissing me off," Dean growled. "Ever since he found out about._..it,_ he's hovered over me like I'm five."

"What did you expect, Deuce?" Caleb asked, tucking his hands into his pockets. "You took a knife and carved into your skin. He's worried. He _cares_ about you, and he feels responsible."

"No one cares about me," Dean rebutted, turning away from Caleb and beginning the walk back.

"Really, Deuce?" Caleb challenged, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around. "Then why did Bobby bake you a cake? Why'd Sammy decorate the entire house for you? Why'd _I _drive down here? We all care about you, Dean. I don't know what we can do to prove it."

_Notice me,_ Dean thought. "I should apologize to Bobby."

"_You should," Caleb agrees. "But he understands. Deuce, we need you to get it through your thick head that we love _you."

"Thanks, Caleb," Dean plastered on a grin for the hunter. "I've got to go find Bobby and apologize to him."

With that, Caleb and Dean began walking back towards the house.

ABCDEFG

_When Dean entered the living room, all he saw was an enormous banner with the words WELCOME HOME, DEAN_ written in crayon. It was obviously Sammy's handwriting, and that made Dean smile. He had missed his brother while he was lying in that bed.

"Dean!" Sam came running out of the kitchen and threw himself at Dean. Dean caught the boy but stumbled backwards. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, kiddo," Dean smiled, running his hand through his little brother's hair.

"I made you a cake," Sam said proudly, taking Dean by the hand and leading him into the kitchen. "Well, Bobby made the cake, but I frosted it."

"_Really?" Dean grinned-his little brother was freakin' adorable_ when he was excited. "What kind?"

"Chocolate," Sam answered. "I know it's your favorite type of cake, even though vanilla's better."

_Sam was right-it was Dean's favorite. Dean loved _chocolate cake, and he only got it when he was at Bobby's. Sam preferred vanilla, so on the off-chance they had enough money to purchase cake mix Dean made sure that it was always vanilla. 

"You're totally wrong, bitch," Dean grinned. "Chocolate's better."

_Dean walked into the kitchen to see Bobby cooking a few burgers. Dean started to sweat. They were all going to eat together._ How was he supposed to get rid of his food if Bobby was watching him like a hawk to make sure he didn't cut?

"Burgers will be ready in a few," Bobby announced.

"They smell good," Sam commented enthusiastically. "Oh, I gotta go get the soda from the car!"

The exuberant nine-year-old ran outside, leaving Bobby and Dean alone.

"Listen, Bobby...I'm sorry," Dean apologized awkwardly, sinking into a seat. "I'm just really stressed out."

"I know," Bobby replied. "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean grinned, sitting down at the table. Sammy came running in with a twelve pack of Pepsi, and Caleb followed him.

"I smelled food," he explained, taking the seat across from Dean.

Dean laughed, and Bobby placed the food on the table.

"Dig in," he announced.

Sammy and Caleb loaded up their plates and started shoveling food into their mouths, but Dean just sat there for a moment. Sure, he realized how ridiculous he was being-it wasn't like he'd fallen so far into this thing he couldn't stop. But it was hard to see that he needed the food when he was so insecure.

"Dean," Bobby said firmly. "Eat."

Caleb and Sammy looked at him.

"You need to eat, Deuce," Caleb stated. "You're skin and bones."

"Please, big brother?" Sammy asked, looking up at him with those puppy-dog eyes. "We worked hard."

Dean couldn't say no to the kid. So even though he didn't want to, even though it nearly fucking _killed _him, he took a burger and sunk his teeth into it.

Bobby smiled. He knew that the family could help Dean overcome this.

**Thoughts? **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." That belongs to Ridley C. James and the Brotherhood AU. **

John Winchester was a dead man.

He'd been gone for a month and four days now, without so much as a phone call to his sons. Even Sam was starting to worry-he never let Dean out of his sight. Bobby had sent Isaac and Jim out to find him, but only so that when they brought him back he could throttle the man.

None of this was helping Dean's recovery, of course. The stress of looking after his brother and worrying about his father was causing him to spiral out of control. Bobby worried about him-Dean was, after all, struggling to overcome an eating disorder. It was already hard for the boy to keep food down-everything but water, lettuce, apples, and celery tended to come back up. Dean had lost an additional four pounds in the laast two weeks, although Bobby and Caleb kept a close eye on the boy's intake and made sure they were never too far away when he went to the bathroom.

So, Bobby was thinking about John's total disregard for his sons when he heard a car pull into the driveway. He reached for the shotgun that he kept by the table and dashed outside.

Sure enough, John Winchester's 1967 Chevorlet Impala was parked in his driveway, and John was on the steps leading to his porch. He looked terrible-there was a two-inch gash on his forehead that was closed with stitches, his left eye was nearly swollen shut, and his right arm was in a cast. But even his injuries didn't warrant any sympathy from Bobby. All he could think about was Dean, who couldn't look into a mirror because he thought he was a disappointment to his father.

"So, you finally decided to come back for your sons, didja?" Bobby shouted holding his rifle. "Nice of you to call."

"Singer, I'm not in the fuckin' mood," John sighed, walking up the steps. "I just got out of the ER yesterday. I've been driving all day. I want to rest, eat, and see my boys."

John started walking up the steps and onto the stairs, and Bobby pointed his rifle at him. "Get off of my porch before I blow ya full of buckshot."

"What the hell, Bobby?" John questioned, stepping onto the porch.

Bobby fired at his feet.

"FUCK!" John cursed. "What's your problem? Are you fucking insane?"

"No, I just care about your sons," Bobby said coldly. "Leave. It's better for them."

"Bobby, what the hell do you mean?" John asked, concerned. "Is Sam okay?"

"Sam's fine," Bobby answered. "But Dean's not, ya _idjit._ Thanks for asking."

"Dean's always alright," John replied automatically. "He's my little soldier."

"He's your goddamn _son!_" Bobby shouted. "If you started treating him like your son instead of your soldier, maybe he'd be okay!"

"Wait, what do you mean?" John asked. "What's wrong with Dean?"

"I'm pretty sure he's got an _eating disorder,_" Bobby hissed. "Because you never made him feel worth it."

"You're joking," John scoffed, stepping onto the porch. "DEAN! SAM!"

At the sound of their father's voice, Dean and Sam rushed towards the front porch.

"Dad!" Sam shouted, tackling his father and surrounding him in a hug. Dean just stood on the porch, staring at his father.

"Hey, Sammy," John greeted his youngest, grinning from ear to ear. "Hey, Dean."

"Hi, Dad," Dean replied.

"How you doing?" John asked, sweeping an eye over his soon.. Sure, Dean looked skinnier than he had when John left-but it was nothing major. _Kid's probably going through a growth spurt, _he thought.

"Good. How'd the hunt go?" Dean replied, running a hand through his hair like he always did when he was stressed out.

"Great. Listen guys, I'm going to need you two to go pack up. There's a hunt about four hours from here," John told them, releasing Sam. "Go on ahead."

"But Dad..." Sam whined. "I like it at Bobby's!"

"_Sam,_" John warned. "We've got to leave."

"Fine," Sam stomped inside, and Dean followed.

John turned to Bobby. "I don't know what you're talking about, Bobby. He looks fine."

ABCDEFG

Sam and Dean walked upstairs and into their room. Sam started ripping his clothes out of the closet and throwing them into his backpack. Dean sat down on the chair that was in the corner of the room and watched.

"It's not fair!" Sam shouted, zipping the bag up. "Dad leaves us here long enough to get attached, then walks back in and makes us leave. No wonder I have no friends!"

"Sammy, I'm your friend," Dean tried to comfort his brother. "I'm always here for you, dude."

"It doesn't count, Dean," Sam said. "You're my brother."

Sam walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Dean sighed. It was going to be exactly the same. 

Dean took out a notebook from the drawer in the bureau and a pen. He started writing as neatly as he could, and ripped the page out of the notebook. He placed it on his bed, and took his clothes out of the closet. He put them in his backpack and took one last look at the room before going outside.

His Dad and Sammy were in the car, and Bobby was standing on the porch. He looked at Dean and plastered an extremely fake grin on his face.

"Well, I think I pissed your Daddy off there," Bobby told him. "This might be the last time we see each other for a bit."

"I know," Dean replied, tears blurring his vision. "Bobby, thanks for-thanks for being there. I'm going to miss it here."

"You're welcome to stay," Bobby offered, hopeful. Maybe Dean would stay with him. Maybe he could help Sam and Dean live a normal life, ensure that they would be safe.

"I wish I could. But Dad needs me. Sam needs me. I've got to be there for them," Dean explained. "I'm sorry."

"I get it," Bobby hugged the boy tight. "Take care of yourself, ya hear? You're always welcome here."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, tears spilling over. He wiped at his eyes and walked towards the Impala, taking the seat beside Sammy. He could feel Bobby's eyes on his back as they drove away from the house.

ABCDEFG

Bobby Singer walked back into the house, tears in his eyes. The two boys that he loved more than his life had just left his house, probably for good. He walked upstairs and into the boys' room.

Sam's soccer posters were still on the walls, and his bed was unmade. A baseball glove and bat laid on the floor, reminders of joyful times. Dean's side of the room was neater-the bed was perfectly made, his pillows were lined up, and a couple of his books were under the bed. A letter laid on the bed, written in Dean's messy scrawl. Bobby sat down and began to read.

_Dear Bobby, _

_It's been a hard month for us here. With Dad gone and everything, I haven't been the best person to be around. Thanks for helping me out and caring, even when I was being a total asshole. You've taught me so much. You've always said that family doesn't end with blood, and you were right. You're definitely a part of my family, Bobby. _

_Love, _

_Dean_

_P.S. I will kick your ass if you tell anyone that I wrote such a chick-flick letter. _

Bobby laughed until he cried. He already missed that boy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." That belongs to Ridley C. James and the Brotherhood AU. **

Five and a half hours later, the Winchester family pulled into the Shady Skies Motel in Adeline, Illinois. It had been a long and quiet ride-Sam was furious at Dad, and Dean was emotionally drained. He just didn't have the energy to strike up a conversation.

Dad parked in front of the office and walked inside, while Dean stared out the window. He missed Bobby's house in South Dakota, missed sleeping in his own bed. Even if Bobby forced him to eat, that house was his home.

John Winchester got back in the car and slammed the door behind him. He drove the car over to the fifth building on the right and parked it.

"Dean, wake up your brother," John ordered, walking over to the room. He unlocked it and stepped inside.

Dean sighed and shook his brother awake. "Sammy? We're at the motel, you gotta get up."

Sam yawned and excited the car. Dean grabbed their backpacks and followed him inside. This room was one of the nicer ones they'd stayed in-it was relatively clean and had a decent-sized TV. There were two queen-sized beds pushed against the north wall, and Dean laid the backpacks on the right one, where Sam was laid out.

Dad was in the bathroom, taking a shower-he was alone, and there was no one to stop him. He was craving the bite of metal, salivating over the thought of the caress of a cold steel blade. He knew he had one in his backpack-Bobby had never thought to check, and Dean hadn't been willing to give it up. No one would care. Hell, no one would _know. _

He reached into his backpack and pulled out the pocketknife once again. He pulled up his sleeve-all of his cuts were healed over now, so he had plenty of room to make the incision. He sank down onto the couch and pulled the blade against his skin once more, a bow to play his song of suffering.

ABCDEFG

When Dad got out of the shower, Dean walked in. He turned on the hot water full-blast and himself enjoy the comfort of the warm water. As the blood from his arms washed down the drain, he promised himself he wouldn't do it again.

After getting dressed in his pajamas, Dean walked back out to the main room. Dad was sitting at the table in the kitchen, examining a map. Dean sighed. He knew what was coming.

"What're you doing, Dad?" he asked, walking over to the table. Sure enough, a newspaper was open next to it.

"Researching for the next hunt," John answered, taking a swig of coffee. "People have been disappearing in College Springs, Iowa. I'm going to check it out."

"Dad, you just got back from a hunt," Dean reminded him.

"I know, Dean," John replied. "Do you really think that I want to leave? But people are _dying. _This one's only going to be a week. You'll be okay."

"Alright, Dad," Dean sighed. "I'm going to bed. G'night."

"Night. I'm going to sign you up for school tomorrow, and then I'll come back to pack up. I'll leave the money in the tin on top of the fridge," he told him. 

"Okay," Dean nodded before climbing in the bed next to Sammy.

Dean didn't understand why his Dad always wanted to leave him and Sam behind. He realized how someone could leave him behind, but Sam deserved better. Sam was a good kid, and Dad needed to realize that before Sam had had enough.

ABCDEFG

When Dean woke up in the morning, it was late-probably about ten or eleven. Sam was already awake and watching TV. Dean rolled out of the bed and stepped onto the floor.

"Dean, I'm hungry," Sammy whined. "Can you make food?"

"Sure, buddy," Dean answered groggily, walking towards the kitchenette and reaching for the coffee. He was exhausted.

After downing a mug of coffee in less than thirty seconds, Dean looked in the fridge for something to cook. There were eggs in the door of the fridge, and a quart of milk on the shelf.

"Hey Sammy, you want scrambled eggs and toast?" Dean asked.

"Okay," Sam answered, and Dean began mixing the eggs. He poured them into a skillet and cooked them up the way Sammy liked them-not too soft, but not too firm. When they were done, he put them on top of a piece of toast and laid them on the table.

"Eat up, little brother," Dean said cheerfully. "Then we can go to the park."

"Really, Dean?" Sam asked excitedly. "How do you know where the park is?"

"I don't," he laughed. "But it's a hick town-we should be fine."

"Okay," Sammy grinned. Dean smiled and hopped in the shower.

He'd come far in the past couple of weeks in Bobby's-he didn't feel the need to lose any more weight. He was trying his best to put a few pounds back on, trying to abstain from cutting. It wasn't as easy as he thought.

By the time he was finished with his shower, the dishes were in the sink and Sam was waiting to leave for the park. Dean turned off the TV and followed the nine-year-old outside.

It was warm for December-he was only wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, but he was comfortable. Sam was excited-they rarely got to go anywhere outside of the motels they stayed in.

Dean took a left down a street, and there was an elementary school. _Where there's a school, there's a playground, _he thought. "This way, Sammy."

He cut behind the school, to where there was a playground swarmed with kids. Parents surrounded the playground, and there was a cute girl his age standing over by a swingset. Sam headed over to the jungle gym and began climbing. Dean walked over to the girl and smiled, his famous Dean Winchester grin.

Sam could see all of this from across the playground and rolled his eyes. Big brothers were _so _weird.

ABCDEFG

A couple hours later, they were on their way home.

Sam was tired, and Dean had already gotten Erin's number, so they decided to head back and see if they could find any good movies on TV.

The second they walked into the motel room, Dean regretted ever leaving.

As soon as they walked through the door, the first thing they saw was Dad. He looked furious. His face was red, and his eyes were livid. Sam immediately shrunk behind Dean.

"Where the _hell _have you been?" he asked.

"I-I'm sorry, D-Dad, we just went-" Dean began, but John cut him off.

"I'm sorry Dad, I was just disobeying orders," John mimicked. "I tell you every time not to go out. I forget to once, and you go AWOL. This is why I can't bring you on hunts!"

That comment hit Dean like a slap in the face, and he literally stepped back. John seemed to register that Sam was there and took a deep breath.

"Don't ever do that again," he said firmly, reaching for a duffel bag on the floor. "I'm leaving for the job. You know the rules-money for necessities only, go to school, and come straight home unless you're grocery shopping."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied.

"And?" John prompted, looking back.

"Take care of Sammy," Dean answered. "I will."

"Alright," John replied. "I'll be back in a week."

John walked out. Dean heard the engine of the Impala start up, and then he was gone. The second he left, Sam came out from behind Dean shaking.

"Dad's scary," Sam announced. 

_Dad loves you_, Dean thought. He knew Dad did love Sammy-he just wasn't sure if he was a fan of him.

"Well, how about we watch some TV?" Dean suggested, sitting by Sam. He tried his hardest to forget about what had just transpired.

But it burned in the back of his mind, until he convinced himself that it was yet again about his weight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." **

**Author's note: Thanks for all of the amazing reviews! **

They were in the middle of "Jaws" when Sammy began to fall asleep. Dean grinned-his brother was adorable when he slept, all traces of anxiety or stress fading away from his face. He turned off the TV and carried his brother to the bed on the left side of the room. He tucked Sam in and stood over the bed.

"Night, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Love you."

He walked over to the couch and sat down. His head was killing him again-he'd forgotten about this part of not eating. He really needed a Tylenol or two, but Dad hadn't left any. Dad left them with the bare necessities, and medicines never made the cut.

Dean was exhausted. He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes-even though Dad wasn't there, he couldn't force himself to lie on that bed. Even though he was tired, he couldn't fall asleep. His mind was flipping through everything that had happened in the past few weeks-from the first time he cut, the first time he purged, and ending up in the hospital. Things had returned to a state of semi-normal after that-Bobby and Caleb had helped him realize he needed to eat, even if they didn't know it. But now, he couldn't remember what made him want to eat again.

He was huge, and Dad didn't want him coming along on the hunt. He'd probably only picked him up to save Bobby the trouble of watching him. He didn't deserve Dad. He didn't deserve Bobby. And he sure as hell didn't deserve a brother as amazing as Sammy.

_I'm worthless. _

ABCDEFG

The next morning, Dean woke up at around six. He'd crashed at around three in the morning, after a night full of tossing and turning. He had wanted to go for a run, but he didn't have the energy. All he really wanted to do was sleep.

Instead of collapsing back onto the couch, Dean reached into his backpack for clothes. He pulled out a pair of jeans that were at least three sizes too big and a long-sleeve shirt and walked into the bathroom to shower.

Instead of turning on the hot water, he blasted the cold water and suffered through another cold shower. They weren't that bad anymore-he'd gotten used to it. He stood under the water for as long as he could, then ducked out of the shower and dressed quickly. It was 6:45-his bus would come at 7:10, but Sam didn't leave until 7:40. He went over to the bed and shook Sam gently.

"Wake up, buddy," Dean whispered. "I'm gonna make you breakfast, okay? Go take a shower."

"Mhmmm," Sam slurred, rolling out of bed. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Dean looked into the freezer-there were frozen waffles, Sam's favorite. He popped them into the toaster and reached into the refrigerator for a water bottle. Sipping slowly on it, he reached for his backpack. He pulled his clothes out of the bag and put them into the bureau-he only had one bag, and he would need it for school.

Sammy walked out of the bathroom, wearing jeans and rubbing a towel through his hair. Dean put the plate of food on the table and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Eat up, squirt," Dean ordered, sipping on his black coffee. It was bitter, but it helped to suppress his hunger. "You can get on the bus yourself, right?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam answered, his mouth full.

"Okay, then I better leave," Dean replied. He reached for his jacket and his backpack. "See ya, Sammy."

"Bye, D," Sam waved as he walked out of the door.

Dean just barely managed to get down to the bus stop in time. When he boarded the long yellow bus, he found himself standing in front of about twenty kids. He took a seat in front.

This day already sucked.

ABCDEFG

By the time Dean got home, he was ready to collapse into bed and sleep for a week. But he knew he couldn't; he needed to do his homework, and then he needed to help Sammy with his. He sighed-he _hated_ this town. He wished he could call Dad and leave, go back to Bobby's where he felt safe.

But he couldn't, and he might as well get used to the place. He pulled out his homework-it was simple Algebra, something Dean had covered at least twelve times in other schools. He was finished in five minutes.

After that, he walked over to the couch. He was exhausted. If he just closed his eyes for a little while-

He slumped onto the couch and fell into a deep sleep.

ABCDEFG

He was awoken later by Sammy's screams.

"Dean! Dean! DEAN!" Sam sobbed, tears rolling down his face. "Wake up! Please!"

Dean opened his eyes groggily. What was up with Sammy? He'd just been sleeping. He wasn't allowed to catch half an hour of rest?

"What, Sammy?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"Dean!" Sam threw his arms around his older brother. "You scared me!"

"Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean asked now, alert. Why was Sammy crying?

"I couldn't wake you up, D," Sam whispered. "I've been trying for a couple hours."

_That can't be true, _Dean thought. He'd fallen asleep at 2:15, and it was now-7:38. Dean did a double take at the clock-how the hell was that possible? If Sam had been screaming like that for hours, how could he have slept through it?

And why was he still exhausted?

"I'm sorry I scared you, Sammy," Dean apologized. "You want some dinner to make up for it?"

Sam nodded, and Dean chuckled. Sam was always hungry. "Hot dogs sound okay?" 

"Yes, please," Sam answered, releasing his hold on Dean. However, his eyes still followed the elder Winchester as he cooked him dinner. When Dean laid a plate with two hot dogs and a handful of chips in front of him, he asked, "Dean, what are you going to eat?"

"I'm not hungry, Sammy," Dean answered, but Sam could tell he was lying. "I ate before you got home." 

"Then how come their are no dishes?" Sam asked.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy!" Dean shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "Read my lips. I. AM. NOT. HUNGRY."

"You need to eat, Dean," Sam insisted, standing up. "You're too skinny."

"Sam. Eat the goddamn food," Dean growled, staring at his brother. "I ate. You didn't."

"Dean, you haven't eaten," Sam said, walking towards his brother. "That's why you've been so grumpy lately. That's why you're so skinny."

"Sam, I eat!" Dean insisted, backing away from his sibling. "Now go have your dinner."

"Dean, I think you have an eating disorder," Sam told him. "It makes sense. The baggy clothes. Not eating. Cutting. You have an eating disorder."

"Sure, Sammy," Dean answered sarcastically. "I have an eating disorder. And Bigfoot and Santa Claus are real." 

Dean walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He locked it behind him and reached for the razor that he hid under the sink. He pulled that blade across his skin, until Sam's words were forgotten.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." **

**Author's note: Thanks for all of the amazing reviews! **

After that, things just got worse.

When Dean came home, he locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out unless Sam needed it. He hardly ever ate, and when he did it was always something low calorie. He had lost even more weight-he was definitely below a hundred pounds. His eyes were sunken, and if you happened to catch him with his shirt off, you could see all of his ribs. Sam was watching his brother disappear before his eyes, and it was horrible. He didn't know what to do-should he call Bobby or Caleb? Should he try for Dad?

Three weeks after Sam announced his suspicion, Dad came home. Fresh stitches held the skin on his right cheek shut, and he was even more bruised than he had been when he left. It was late at night-Dean was still shut up in the bathroom, and Sam was sure he heard him crying. It killed him.

"Daddy!" Sam threw himself into John's arms and thought back to a time when that was all he needed-a hug from his father to take away all of the pain. He wondered if Dean had ever felt safe with Dad-probably not since before the fire.

"Hey, Sammy," Dad wrapped his arms around his son. He couldn't remember the last time that his youngest had been so excited to see him-or the last time he'd called him Daddy. "Where's Dean, tiger?"

"He's in the bathroom," Sam dragged his father over to the bathroom and pounded on the door. "DEAN! OPEN UP! DAD'S BACK!"

"Whoa, tiger," John pulled his youngest back. "You can't just go barging in there."

"But Dad, Dean's sick. I think he has an eating disorder," Sam explained. "He hasn't been eating and he never comes out of the bathroom."

"Sammy, I'm sure he just has the flu," John rolled his eyes.

"Really?" Sammy challenged. "Then get Dean out here and you'll see."

"Okay," John agreed. He went over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "Dean? Come on out."

For a few seconds, there was silence. Then, Dean opened the door and walked out.

John was shocked into silence. His eldest wasn't just thin-he was _skeletal._ Dean's eyes were sunken, his cheeks caved in, and his arms and legs were like twigs. He was swimming in a sweatshirt and jeans that were far too large on him. He didn't look like _Dean_ anymore-he looked like one of the corpses that they had salted and burnt.

"Dean," John said, shocked. "Dean."

"Dad, are you okay?" Dean asked. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"What the hell did you do?" John demanded. laying his hands on his son's all-too-bony shoulders. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"Dad!" Sam rushed over to them, breaking John's hold on Dean. Dean fell back and landed on the floor.

"Pack up, guys," John growled, walking out to the car. "We're going to Jim's."

ABCDEFG

The ride to Blue Earth, Minnesota was awkwardly silent.

Dean sat in the backseat, next to Sam-whenever John looked in the rear view mirror, he saw his son staring back at him accusingly. _How could he overlook something like this?_

John felt like a total asshole-Bobby had tried to tell him that his son had a problem, but he hadn't listened to him. He'd allowed his son to get hurt by something he couldn't understand-the monsters that lurked in his mind.

John pulled into Jim's driveway and parked the car next to Caleb's Pontiac. Dean jumped out and grabbed his backpack, rushing into the house like it was his own. He and Sam were dumped here every few weeks, and they came every year for Christmas. Pastor Jim made it a point to get them ridiculous amounts of gifts-they usually ended up either in their room at his house or Bobby's.

"Is that Samuel or Dean?" Pastor Jim asked as he walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. "Dean. It's good to see you, my boy."

"Deuce is here?" Dean heard Caleb shout. The young hunter came running down the stairs and stopped in front of the front door. "Damn it, Dean!"

"What?" Dean snapped. "Are you going to get on my case too? Why don't you join Dad and Sam? "

With that, Dean dashed up the stairs.

"Shit, Jim," Caleb turned to the pastor. "He's gotten even more thin."

"Caleb, my boy, he isn't _thin_," Jim stated gravely. "He's a walking skeleton."

Sam and John walked in, carrying their bags. Sam was crying, and John looked furious. Turning towards his youngest, he said, "Go play, Sammy."

Sam dropped his bags and walked into the den, where the bare Christmas tree was sitting. He collapsed back onto the couch and stared at the wall.

"What's up with my son, Reeves?" John asked Caleb, furious. "He's sick. Really sick."

"Bobby and I think he has an eating disorder," Caleb answered cooly. "We were working on it when you walked in and fucked everything up."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" John growled. "They're my kids. I had every right to take them with me."

"Yeah, you had every right," Caleb agreed. "But were you thinking about what was best for _them_? I can guarantee that Dean was doing much better Bobby's than he's doing with you."

John's fist were clenched, his jaw tight. He looked over at Caleb, and the twenty-three year old was staring him in the eye. It pissed him off, so John swung his fist at the hunter.

It connected with Caleb's cheek, and the hunter fell to the ground. Running his tongue along the back of his teeth to make sure they weren't broken, he said,"You can hit me all you want, John. It doesn't change the fact that you did this to Dean."

"No, Dean did this to _himself,_" John hissed. He turned around, slamming the door behind him. Caleb heard the engine start, and watched through the window as the Impala drove away.

"That man's a real asshole, you know?" he told Jim as he stood up.

"He loves his sons," Jim explained. "He just doesn't know how to show it."

"Well, I guarantee you behavior like that is exactly why Deuce is sick," Caleb replied, picking up the phone. "I'm calling Bobby."

**What do you think? I really like this chapter-I could see this happening. Tell me what you think, where you want this story to go-anything!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." **

**Author's note: Thanks for over 100 AWESOME reviews! You guys are all amazing! **

Dean sat on his bed, tossing a tennis ball against the wall. He was furious at Caleb, furious at his father, furious at _himself. _If he had tried harder, lost a little bit more weight, his father wouldn't be walking out on Sam again.

There was a knock at the door, and Dean lobbed the ball as hard as he could at it. "Go away."

"Deuce, it's me," Caleb said from the hall. "I've got food for you."

"I'm not eating any goddamn food," Dean growled.

"Dean, please," Caleb pleaded. "You're killing yourself."

"Not like any one will miss me anyway," Dean muttered. Then he raised his voice, "Caleb, I'm not eating it."

Caleb waited outside the door for a moment, thinking. What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't shove the food down Dean's throat-all it would do was make him resent eating even more. "I'm going to leave the food in front of your door, okay? If you want it, it's all yours."

He walked downstairs and to the kitchen, where Jim was waiting for him. Sam sat at the table, chewing on a brownie-he looked up at Caleb expectantly.

"Did he take it?" Jim asked hopefully.

"No," Caleb answered, shaking his head. "I left the tray in front of his door-"

All of a sudden, an ear-splitting shriek followed by a crash pierced the relative quiet in the house. Caleb and Jim ran towards the source of the sound, Sam close behind them.

Dean was sprawled out at the foot of the stairs, food spread around him. His eyes were shut, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his forehead. Caleb rushed to his side, turning the emaciated boy onto his back and cradling him in his arms. He could feel the knobby mass that was Dean's spine under his shirt, count his ribs.

"Dean? Dean?" he shouted frantically, cradling the broken boy in his arms. "Can you hear me?"

Sam was crying, trying to get closer to Dean-Jim was holding him back, murmuring words of comfort. Caleb looked up.

"I think his arm's broken," Caleb announced, looking up at Jim. "Sammy, can you do me a favor? I need you to call 911, okay?"

Sam nodded and rushed towards the kitchen. Jim rushed over to Dean's side.

"He probably got dizzy at the top of the stairs and fell," Jim theorized, observing the shattered dishes and the unconscious form of Dean.

"Oh, Deuce," Caleb whispered, tears in his eyes. "How could you do this to yourself?"

Suddenly, Dean's eyelids began to flutter. He began to shiver, and Caleb clutched him closer to his chest. When Dean was fully awake, he stared up at the two men.

"P'stor Jim?" he slurred-man, his head and right arm hurt like a _sonnuvabitch._ And he was cold. Not just goosebumps cold, but chilled to the bone."Caleb? Why am I on the floor?"

"You fell down the stairs, Deuce," Caleb replied. "Sammy's calling an ambulance. They'll be here soon."

"Don't need an 'mbulence," Dean protested weakly, but he was too exhausted to put up a real fight. "You're bein' stupid."

"Humor us, my boy," Pastor Jim requested, covering Dean with a blanket. "Just rest until they arrive."

"Try not to move, Deuce," Caleb told him. "Your arm looks broken and there's glass everywhere."

"Sorry 'bout your plates, Pastor Jim," Dean apologized, and Jim smiled.

"Don't worry about the plates, my boy," Jim replied. "We have more serious problems-like your shattered bones."

Dean chuckled, and then-agony.

"SONUVABITCH!" he cried. Tears streamed down his face. "It hurts, Caleb, it hurts!"

"I know, Deuce," Caleb replied-Dean couldn't be sure, but through a haze of tears he thought he saw Caleb crying too. "Relax, okay?"

Sam rushed back into the room and over to his brother. He kneeled at Dean's side-his big brother was _bleeding. _"Dean, are you okay?

"I'm fine, S'mmy," Dean answered, but Sam could tell he was lying. Beads of sweat ran down Dean's forehead, and tears stained his cheeks. Sam ran his hand through Dean's hair, like Dean did for him when he was sick, and pulled out a clump.

"Dean, your hair..." Sam started, but Jim shushed him.

"What?" Dean asked, before he was interrupted by the wail of a siren.

"He said that the ambulance is here," Caleb lied. "Sammy, can you go let them in?"

Sam ran over to the door and threw it open. "He's in here!"

He lead them over to Dean, who stared at the stretcher they held. "No frickin' way is that happening."

"You're right," one of the paramedics, a tall, young black man, agreed. He turned to his partner. "Jake, we're going to need the backboard."

The other paramedic rushed outside, and Dean looked over at Caleb. "I swear to God, if they put on a neck brace, I'm going to kill you."

Caleb laughed through his tears as Jake carried in the backboard. It was just such a typical _Dean _response to crack jokes even when he was in pain. But it was horribly sad, as well.

The paramedics strapped Dean onto the backboard and immobilized his head. When they jostled his arm, Dean bit down on a scream and grimaced. It was definitely broken.

"We can have one ride along," the paramedic announced.

"I'll go," Caleb volunteered. Then he looked at Jim. "But, if you wanted too..."

"No, my boy, you should go," Jim agreed. "Samuel and I will wait for John."

"But I want to go with Dean!" Sam protested.

"Samuel, Dean needs to focus on healing," Jim told the stubborn child. "And someone needs to help me talk some sense into your father."

Sam nodded. The paramedics were walking out when Dean uttered a single word.

"Sammy," he said, clear as a bell. He reached for his little brother.

Sam walked up to him and took his hand. The two brothers looked into each others eyes. They didn't say a word to each other, and it couldn't have been longer than ten seconds, but somehow Jim knew that they had a language all their own.

**This wasn't the twist I expected this story to take, but once I started writing it it seemed like the right thing to write. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**I'm not making Dean any sicker than he already was-when a person doesn't eat, the vitamins that nourish the hair are lacking. After a while, the hair starts falling out.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." **

**Author's note: Thanks for over 100 AWESOME reviews! You guys are all amazing! **

Sam was silent, stoic, as Dean was carried out of the house. That worried Jim more than sobs-at least then, he would know that the boy was coherent. He pulled the boy into a hug and whispered all the right words into his ear, even though he didn't believe half of them. He wasn't sure if Dean would be alright, wasn't even sure if Dean could survive after everything that he had done to his body. But he couldn't tell Sam that-it would shatter the boy irrevocably.

"Come on, Samuel," Jim gently led the boy into the kitchen. Sitting him down at the table, Jim fixed him a cup of hot chocolate and handed him a brownie. He retrieved a blanket from the other room and draped it around Sam's shoulders-he was pretty sure that the boy was in shock.

"My boy, I need you to try to eat something, alright?" Jim told Sam, but the boy didn't even blink. Jim waved the brownie under the boy's nose. "They're fresh. I made them just for you and-"

Jim realized his mistake as soon as he spoke. But it got Sam's attention, and the boy looked up at Jim with tears in his eyes. Throwing the blanket off of his shoulders, he began to sob.

"Samuel, it will be alright," Jim promised.. "Dean's at the hospital, getting the help he needs. I'll take you to see him as soon as your father arrives, alright?" 

"Pastor Jim, D-dad doesn't k-know Dean's sick. H-he'll stay out all night at the bar," Sam hiccuped. "H-how could he walk out on us like that?"

For that, Jim had no answer.

ABCDEFG

The ride to the hospital, while fairly quick, was full of activity.

"Jake, I'm gonna need an IV here," the other paramedic announced. "He's really dehydrated."

He rolled up Dean's sleeve, saw the cuts, and noticed how thin it was. He searched for veins, anything he could put an IV into, but he couldn't find any. 

"Shit," he cursed, turning to Caleb. "I can't find a vein, and his arms are so goddamn thin I think putting an IV in would be dangerous."

Dean was grimacing in pain, eyes closed. His skin was pale and clammy, and he was so goddamn _freezing. _In that moment, he wanted nothing more than death, relief from the pain that was his life.

The ambulance stopped suddenly, and Dean was exposed to the frigid air. He shivered, so violently that Caleb physically held him down. As soon as they were inside, Dean opened his eyes, only to realize that his vision was blurry. He could make out the silhouettes of Caleb and a few doctors standing over him, but that was it. They were screaming, but he could only make out snippets:

"Thirteen year old male, possible neck injury..."

"Severe dehydration, extremely low body weight..."

"Anorexia Nervosa..."

And then the black overtook him once again.

ABCDEFG

After a few shots of whiskey, John was feeling good enough to go home.

It had been four hours since he had left after punching Caleb, four hours of no contact with his sons. He hadn't really thought about it-to be honest, after the fourth or fifth shot, he hadn't thought about much of anything. Which was probably why he decided to drive back to Jim's.

By some miracle, he managed to navigate the few miles without crashing into anything. He parked the Impala in Jim's driveway and walked up the front steps, stumbling over his own feet. He hadn't been this drunk in a long time.

When he opened the door, he was ambushed by his own son.

"You-complete-_asshole_," Sam shouted, beating him with his fists. "You're the reason Dean's sick!"

"Whoa, tiger," John slurred. "I didn't do nothin' to Dean. He did it to 'mself."

"You're _drunk,_" Sam accused, eyes narrowing. "Dean's in the hospital and you're _drunk!_"

"Wait, Dean's in the hospital?" John asked, sobering quickly. "What happened?"

"He fainted at the top of the stairs," Jim answered, entering the room. "He broke three ribs, his arm, and has a nasty gash on his forehead that required ten stitches to close."

"Shit," John cursed. "We've got to get over there."

John turned around and walked out of the house, towards his car. Jim cut him off. "You are in no state to drive. I'll bring you."

"Fine!" John snarled, walking over to Jim's Toyota. "Just hurry up. I need to get to my son!"

ABCDEFG

Caleb sat by Dean's bed, sipping his coffee and staring at the pale, emaciated teen. He just laid there, still as death.

The doctors had finally found a vein to stick an IV through-it was a long, painful process. With a heavy dose of pain killers in his system, Dean had managed to fall asleep. They stitched up his head next, and casted his broken arm. He had an x-ray to identify any other possible breaks-of course, they had found three broken ribs. Deuce was a total mess.

Caleb didn't know how things had gotten this bad, why Dean felt that he needed to starve himself. He didn't know what to say, what to do-how could he help Dean?

While Caleb was lost in his thoughts, Jim, John, and Sammy walked into the room. Sam immediately went to Dean's side and took his hand, careful to avoid pulling out any tubes. He didn't want to do anything that would hurt his big brother. 

"Hello, Caleb," Jim greeted the young hunter. "How is our boy?"

"He's been out of it for a while," Caleb answered, looking up. He noticed John, and his jaw grew taunt. "What? Come to hit me again?" 

"Caleb, I-I'm sorry," John apologized, eyes on his son. "You were right. I wasn't paying attention to Dean's best interests-I was paying attention to my best interests. I just couldn't imagine leaving Dean behind."

"Yeah? Well look where it got you," Caleb replied, indicating towards Dean and Sam.

At that moment, a doctor walked in. He was young, with black hair and blue eyes. "Hi, I'm Dr. Ryans. I'll be handling Dean's case." 

"I'm John Winchester," John shook the doctor's hand. "Dean's father. These two are my friends, Jim and Caleb, and that's my other son Sammy."

"Nice to meet all of you," the doctor greeted them. "I just wish it could be under better circumstances."

"What do you mean?" Caleb demanded. "Deuce is going to be okay, right?"

"Samuel, my boy, let's go down to the cafeteria," Jim took Sam by the hand and led him out of the room.

The second that the child was out of earshot, the doctor answered them.

"Dean's at a critical point. He weighs 92 pounds, putting him way below a healthy BMI-I'm surprised that he still has the energy to walk," Dr. Ryans replied. "A boy of his age and his height should be anywhere from 115 to 154 pounds. He's in a lot of danger-because he hasn't been eating, he may have electrolyte imbalances, a heart murmur, or any number of health issues. The next few days are going to be extremely important, but as long as we can get him to gain some weight he should be fine."

"Alright," John sighed,, relieved. "Thank you, doctor."

His son had a long, hard battle in front of him. But he _would _survive. John would make sure of it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." **

**Author's note: Thanks for over 100 AWESOME reviews! You guys are all amazing! **

The next few hours were spent in subdued silence. They were spread out among the room-Sam laid in the bed by Dean, Jim sat in a chair by the bed, Caleb sat in the alcove by the window, and John leaned against a wall by the door. No one spoke, no one moved, no one made a sound until four in the morning.

"Hey, guys," Bobby Singer walked into the room, balancing a cardboard tray of coffee in one hand and a McDonald's Happy Meal in the other.. "I come bearing gifts."

Bobby gave each man a coffee and walked over to Sam. "I got this for you, squirt."

Sam just stared up at the grizzled hunter and shook his head. "The smell makes Dean si-"

In the middle of his sentence, Sam began to yawn and couldn't stop. Bobby grinned-although Sam tried to act like a tough guy, he was still just a nine-year-old boy who needed his big brother-and his father.

"I'll take Samuel home," Jim volunteered, springing out of his seat. "He needs rest."

"But I don't wanna go," Sam protested. "Dean needs me."

"Sam, go home and get some rest," John said, in a tone that left no room for compromise. "That's an order."

"But Dad..." he pouted.

"Now," John replied.

Sam sighed, but resigned himself to his fate. He gave Dean a quick hug, careful of the wires, and climbed off of the bed. Caleb yawned from the alcove and stretched.

"You too," John ordered, taking one look at the obviously exhausted young man. "We can take care of Dean."

"I'm not your kid, John," Caleb growled. "Deuce is like my kid brother. I'm going to be here for him."

"Caleb, if ya run yourself into the ground you'll be no use to any of us," Bobby pointed out. "Catch a couple hours of sleep and come back later."

"Fine," Caleb agreed. "But I'll be back soon." 

He followed Jim and Dean out of the room, leaving Bobby and John alone.

ABCDEFG

"So, Winchester," Bobby growled as he sat down in the seat Jim had vacated. "Are we finally admitting that maybe, just maybe, that_ Dean has a problem here_?"

"Can it, Bobby," John retorted. "I just don't know why he'd do this to himself, why he'd do this to _us. _It's like he's fucking sticking a knife into Sam's heart-you can see it in his eyes."

"Why he's doing this to _you_?" Bobby asked, incredulous. "John, Dean's not trying to do a goddamn thing to hurt you or Sam-he's trying to be good enough for you."

"What the hell do you mean?" John asked. "I've always let Dean know that I care about him."

"Really?" Bobby fired back. "John, I've never heard you say anything to Dean except _pass the salt _or _take care of your brother. _It's no wonder that he feels so worthless." 

"So you're saying that this is my fault?" John asked.

"Ya, I am, ya _idjit_," Bobby answered bluntly. "And you've gotta change it before Dean ends up six feet under."

John Winchester looked down at the still, pale body that was his son. If not for his even breathing, he would look like a corpse.

"I'll try," John replied. "I'll try my damndest."

ABCDEFG

When Dean woke up, he was connected to all sorts of tubes and wires. He couldn't move for fear that he would accidentally pull one out. He settled for taking an inventory on his injuries.

The skin on his forehead felt like it was pulled taunt-he must have gotten stitches. His right arm was encased in a black plaster cast, and he could hardly breathe without wincing in pain.

"You really did a number on yourself, Ace," Dean turned his head, and he saw his father sitting in a seat by his bed.

"Dad," Dean said, shocked. "I'm sor-"

"Don't even say it, Dean," John interrupted. He looked up at his bruised and broken son, and remembered the vivacious, lively child that he used to be. "Dean, this is my fault."

"Dad, how could it be your fault? I was the one who screwed up," Dean disagreed.

"Dean, I shouldn't have put so much pressure on you. I shouldn't be so hard on you, and I shouldn't have said the things that I did that night. For that, I'm sorry," John apologized, looking up at his son. "It's just-with what happened to your mother, I'm afraid of losing you and Sam. It doesn't make what I did right, but that's my reason."

"Dad, it's okay," Dean tried to comfort his father.

"It's not okay how I've been treating you," John disagreed. "But Ace-you can't do this to yourself. You're killing yourself."

"Dad, I'm just losing weight," Dean disagreed. "I've done good so far, haven't I?"

"Dean, you're not just losing weight anymore," John replied, agony in his voice. "You're hurting yourself. You're skin and bones."

"Don't lie to me, Dad," Dean looked away as tears welled in his eyes. "I'm fat."

"Dean, look at me!" John shouted. "You're not fat. You've never _been _fat. You need to know that!"

"He's right, Dean," Bobby appeared in the doorway. "You're going to die if ya keep this up."

Dean was crying now, tears streaming down his face. He looked up. "But I don't know if I can stop."

"We're going to help you, Ace," John promised. "Me, Bobby, Jim, Caleb-everybody. It won't be easy, but we'll do it."

Dean nodded. It would be a long, hard battle-but it was good to know that he had his family on his side.

**Sorry for the really short chapter, but after the way we left things between John and Dean I felt the need for a heart-to-heart. **


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." **

**Author's note: Thanks for over 100 AWESOME reviews! You guys are all amazing! **

**Last: **_"But I don't konw if I can stop." _

"Ya can, and we're all going to help you," Bobby promised. "Ya just focus on resting in here for a couple days, 'kay?"

"Okay," Dean nodded. He yawned. "I'm tired. I think I'm gonna sleep for a while."

"You just woke up," John reminded him-but Dean was already out like a lamp. "Damn."

"John, he probably hasn't been sleepin' all that well," Bobby told the worried father. "He's gotta catch up."

"I know," John replied, pacing the length of the room. "It's just really fuckin' _terrifying _to see him this weak. What if something happen-"

"John, _nothing is going to come for him,_" Bobby growled. "Nothing will happen to him, not with all of us here."

"I know. I'll just feel a lot better when we can bring him back to Jim's in a couple days," John sighed.

"John, maybe it would be better to keep Dean here for a while," Bobby suggested. "He needs time to heal from this, gain a few pounds."

"He can do that at Jim's," John insisted. "I'm not leaving him here."

"But-" Bobby started, but John interrupted. him.

"Bobby, _Dean is coming home,_" John hissed. Dean stirred under his covers. "I'm through discussing it."

Bobby sighed, but let the matter drop for the moment. The one thing Dean needed more than anything at the moment was rest.

ABCDEFG

At around four that afternoon, Sam and Caleb arrived. Dean was still asleep-the kid hadn't even moved since eight in the morning, when John had tried to make him eat some Jello. It had gone down, but then came right back up-his stomach was too weak to hold much of anything. It worried John-he hadn't realized exactly _how_ sick Dean was until he began vomiting, right there in front of them.

Caleb's voice brought John back to reality.

"How's Deuce?" Caleb asked, walking over to the bed. "Has he been sleeping this entire time?" 

"Basically," John answered. "But he's been cleared to go back to Jim's tomorrow, so long as he takes it easy."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Caleb inquired, eyes flickering over to Bobby. "I mean, we all want Deuce to come back home-but at home he might fall back, you know?"

"I know, Caleb," John replied. "But I really think it's the best thing for him. He needs to recover someplace that's familar."

"I guess," Caleb said, unconvinced. "We're all going to have to keep an eye on him, though."

"Which won't be a problem," John snapped, as Dean began to stir. Sam rushed over to his big brother's side, so he could be there for Dean like Dean had always been there for him.

"Hey, _idjits,_" Bobby interrupted the bickering between the two hunters. "Maybe we should take this downstairs. I'm sure Sammy wants to spend some time with his brother."

John's eyes darted towards his eldest. "I don't know, Bobby."

"John, Dean'll be fine," Bobby said. "Sam's not going to let anything hurt him. Right, Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, never taking his eyes off of Dean. "Dad, I'll take care of Dean. Go."

John still looked unconvinced, but Bobby saved the day.

"John, look," he growled. "We'll be downstairs. If they need anything, they just hit the call button and a nurse'll come over. Give Sam and Dean some time together."

"Okay," John agreed. "Sammy, don't wear him out, okay?"

The three men exited the room, leaving Sam alone with an unconcious Dean. He stared at Dean-he'd never seen his brother lie so still. Usually, he would be running all over the place like a three-year-old with ADHD. To be honest, it scared Sam more than anything. Tears began to stream down his face, and he couldn't stop them. It terrified him to think that Dean could _die _of this disease.

"S'mmy?" he slurred, turning his head towards his brother. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, De," Sam lied, turning his face. His brother didn't need to worry about anything other than recovering.

"Don't lie to me, bitch," Dean chuckled weakly. "You've always sucked at it."

"Dean, I can't understand something," Sam began. "Why'd you do this to yourself? You always were skinny, but then you got sick, and now I'm afraid that if I leave you for more than a minute you won't be there when I get back. I miss fighting with you over what we have for dinner and what to watch on Bobby's crappy black-and-white TV. I miss my brother, De."

Dean looked at his brother, who was sobbing uncontrollabley at this point, and felt nothing but guilt. In trying to make his father proud, he'd hurt the one thing that he loved more than anything-Sammy. It was killing him to see his little brother so depressed.

"Sam, I'm sorry," Dean apologized, but Sam interrupted him.

"Dean, don't apologize," Sam insisted. "It's not your fault. I just need you to know that I've never been embarrassed by you, and I miss you. Just promise me that you'll come home soon, okay? I want to help you get btter."

Dean smiled, but then yawned. He was so goddamn _exhausted. _His father and Bobby entered the room, and walked over to him.

"Sam, Dean needs his rest," John told his youngest. "He's coming home tomorrow, and then you guys can talk all you want. But for now, I need you to go."

"Dean's coming home tomorrow?" Sam exclaimed. Bobby chuckled, and even John cracked a smile.

"Yeah, tiger," John answered, running a hand through his youngest's hair. "I think it's best for all of us."

While Bobby disagreed, he bit his toungue. Sam didn't need to hear about his doubts.

**The action picks up again next chapter. If you could give me some contcrit, I'd really appriciate it! I really want to improve my writing, and I know that you guys can help me. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or the nickname, "Deuce." **

**Author's note: Thanks for over 100 AWESOME reviews! You guys are all amazing! **

The next day, John was signing Dean out of the hospital. He'd brought Dean some clothes-they were actually a pair of Sam's sweatpants that happened to fit him, and one of his old sweatshirts that was at least four sizes too big for his new frame. John had walked in when Dean was pulling on his sweatshirt-his stomach caved in beneath his rib cage, and his spine was clearly visible underneath his translucent skin. It was all John could do not to gasp.

But instead, he plastered on a smile and walked over to the bed Dean was laying on. All Dean seemed to do now was sleep, rest, and shiver; it scared John.

"You ready, Ace?" he asked, walking over to the bed. "The guys are waiting at home."

"Yeah, Dad," Dean answered, standing up. "Can't wait." 

As Dean started to walk towards the door, his legs were shaking almost uncontrollably. John walked right behind his son, so he could catch him if he fell-at this point, he was questioning his own choice to bring Dean home. Maybe it would be better to leave Dean here for a couple of days-

_No, _he thought. His son needed to be home with family, so they could help him heal. John was also being a tad selfish-he didn't want to leave Dean in the hospital, where John couldn't have any control over his son's care.

When they reached the Impala, John helped Dean into the passenger seat, threw his son's backpack into the backseat, and began driving towards Jim's place. It was a little bit cramped now-the house was only three bedrooms, and six people were living there-but Dean was too weak for the eight-hour trek back to Bobby's.

John pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the car. He looked over at Dean-the boy was asleep yet again. John sighed and walked over to the passenger side, intending to wake up his son, but then he saw Dean's face. He looked so innocent, so comfortable, that John couldn't stand to interrupt. Instead, he picked up his son and carried him through the door.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, running towards them. But then he saw his brother in his father's arms, and he hushed his voice. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah tiger, he's just tired," John answered. "I'm going to put him in your room, okay? We'll wake him up for dinner."

Sam nodded, and John carried Dean up the stairs into his room. He laid his son on the bed, and covered him with a blanket. Turning the light off, he walked downstairs and into the kitchen.

"How's Dean?" Bobby asked, standing over the stove. He was wearing his trucker's cap and an apron that read "kiss the cook".

"Exhausted," John answered, peering into the pot he was slaving over. It looked like chicken soup, heavy on the vegetables. John looked up at Bobby. "Do we really have to eat this shit?"

"Shut up, ya _idjit,_" Bobby growled, stirring the soup. "It's for Dean. We're having fettuccine Alfredo, but I didn't think he'd be able to handle that."

"Good idea," John complimented him, reaching into the fridge for a beer.

"Yeah, I know," Bobby stated awkwardly. He wanted to ask John a question, but he wasn't sure how the hunter would take it. Eventually, he just blurted it out. "John, why were you so set on Dean coming here so soon?"

"I just couldn't leave him there, Bobby," John answered. "Maybe it was selfish, but I didn't want him there when I couldn't be there. I figured we could help him on our own."

"But John, he's really sick. He could need a feeding tube or somethin', we just don't know," Bobby said. "I think we shoulda let him stay there a couple weeks."

"He's my son," John insisted. "I caused this, I can help him through it."

"If you're sure," Bobby said. "But if he gets any sicker, we're bringing him back."

"Alright," John agreed. "Now when's dinner going to be ready? I'm starved."

"About twenty more minutes." Bobby answered. "Oh, by the way, Jim picked up some supplies in town. They're in the den."

John walked into the other room, where a grocery bag was sitting on the sofa. John opened it-inside, there was a bottle of Pedialyte and a baby monitor Pedialyte would rehydrate Dean, if he became really sick. John could leave the one of the monitors in the kitchen, so if Dean needed help one of them would know. Jim was a genius.

"Bobby, if you see Jim before me could you thank him for me? And give him this," John took out his wallet and extracted a worn twenty.

"He's not going to take that, so ya might as well put it away," Bobby told him. "We all care 'bout Dean."

John laid the money out on the counter. "Just tell him to take it, alright? We don't take charity."

John walked upstairs to put the device in Dean's room. The boy hadn't moved at all, but he seemed fine. John pulled the monitor out of the box, put the batteries in the back, and laid it on the nightstand.

"Bobby? Can you hear me?" he whispered.

"Yup," Bobby's gruff voice answered on the other end. "Ya might wanna wake Dean up, dinner's about ready and Caleb and Jim are just gettin' in."

"Okay," John gently shook Dean awake. When his eyes opened, they darted around the room frantically, like he expected something to attack him. But when he saw John, he relaxed.

"What's up, Dad?" he slurred sleepily. "I was in the middle of the best sleep ever."

"Sorry, Dean," John apologized. "But it's dinner and I need you to eat something, okay?"

"But Dad, I'm not hungry," Dean protested. It was true-ever since he'd stopped eating, his appetite had decreased to the point that three celery sticks filled him up. The mere thought of eating actual food terrified him.

"Dean," John said, his voice stern. "This diet thing? It's over. You will eat, got it? Now do you want to have dinner up here, or down at the table?"

John's voice left no room for negotiation, so Dean gave up. "Can I eat up here, just for tonight?"

"Sure, Ace," John answered kindly. "We're going to try some soup tonight, okay?"

Dean nodded, tears in his eyes, as his father went downstairs to get a bowl of soup for him. This was where the real trouble was going to start-he was going to get _fat again, _after he'd worked so hard to loose all the weight. They didn't understand him-he'd done it for them, yet they were acting like he was some type of freak.

John walked back in, holding a glass of water and a huge bowl of soup. Well, actually, it wasn't really huge-it was normal, the size that Dean would have eaten before this all began. But still, after a month of nothing but miniscule portions, any other size looked gargantuan.

John pulled a seat up to the side of Dean's bed and sat the bowl and glass on the nightstand. He dipped the spoon into the bowl, and held it up to Dean's closed lips.

"Dean," John warned, glaring at his son. "Open your mouth."

Dean shook his head.

"Cm'on, Dean, you need to eat," John pleaded, trying a different approach. "It's soup. Bobby made it just for you, and it looks really good. Just a bite, please?"

Dean kept his mouth shut and shook his head furiously. He _would not_ give in, let the hunger beat him. He was determined-he was within five pounds of looking good.

"Dean, open your goddamn mouth and swallow the soup," John demanded. "That's an order."

But Dean still wouldn't eat, still wouldn't open his mouth. Tears were gathering in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He would _not _be weak.

"DEAN, EAT!" John roared. His son was skeletal but wouldn't eat, his life was falling apart-it was all overwhelming him, and he took it out on his son in that moment.

Dean began to sob, tears flowing freely down his face. He couldn't eat. He just couldn't bring himself to, even though he knew he needed it. He couldn't get this image of him being fat out of his head, couldn't get those words his father had said that night out of his memory. He knew that this would kill him, but it had taken over his entire life.

"I can't, Dad," he whispered softly. "I'm sorry."

At that moment, Bobby came rushing into the room. He walked over to John, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to the door-John put the spoon in the bowl and left.

This made Dean cry even harder-yet again, he'd failed his father. Why couldn't he be good enough?

"Dean, it's okay," Bobby comforted, wrapping the boy in a hug. "Come on, let's try a little bite. Just a little, okay? Please."

But Dean couldn't, so he shook his head. Bobby sighed, and then said, "Dean, please. You're going to put yourself back in the hospital. Just a few bites, okay?"

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. Opening his mouth, just a little bit, he swallowed a spoonful of soup.

Immediately, it threatened to come up-his stomach was churning, and he was having a hard time keeping it down. When Bobby noticed, he thrust a trash bin under Dean's mouth just as he vomited.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized, tears pricking in his eyes _again. _

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, boy," Bobby said, placing the bin back down. He handed the boy his glass of water and said, "Good job, Dean. It's a start."

**I loved writing this chapter-it was hard, but I think the end result was pretty good. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or anything you recognize. **

**Thanks for all of the amazing feedback! **

Two days later, Bobby was getting worried.

Dean had hardly been able to keep anything down, and he was losing weight again-rapidly. When they had weighed him the other day, he'd been down to eighty nine pounds. John was driving himself nuts trying to get his son to eat-Bobby practically had to hog tie him to get him to catch a few hours of sleep. They were all concerned-while they knew Dean wasn't purging again, they were all terrified that he would eventually dip below eighty pounds.

Bobby was attempting to feed Dean plain white rice when Jim walked into the bedroom.

"How are things going in here?" he inquired as Bobby laid the half-full bowl of rice on the nightstand.

"He's managed to keep the last three bites down," Bobby answered. "But it's slow, and he gets exhausted."

"I see that," Jim agreed, pointing towards Dean. Bobby looked over at him-he was out of it.

"That's gettin' old real quick," Bobby growled. He wasn't angry at Dean-he was infuriated by this entire situation, and John Winchester. Had the man been more careful with his words, they wouldn't be in this predicament.

"I know," Jim sighed. "I worry about him."

"Me too," Bobby agreed. "Jim, I've been thinkin'..."

"Did you strain yourself?" Jim asked, his face serious.

"Shut up, ya _idjit,_" Bobby growled as Jim burst into peals of laughter. "But seriously, I've been thinkin'...what if I made a deal?"

His words sobered Jim immeadilty. The pastor looked at him, concerned, and then stated, "Bobby, you know that doesn't work out. You didn't...did you?"

"I didn't," Bobby answered, reaching for his beer. He took a swig and contemplated on his word choice carefully. "It's just...ya know...so hard to see him like this, ya know?"

Jim nodded in agreement. "I know, Bobby. But even if you did, Dean would still have the mindset of an anorexic and this would all happen again. We're better off with a doctor. Speaking of which, I was thinking-how about we call that kid, Andy?"

"Andy Russell?" Bobby asked, and Jim nodded. "I don't know, Jim. He's just a kid."

"Bobby, he's got to be at least twenty five by now," Jim said, exasperated. "We really can't afford to be picky. Worst case scenario-he can't help us and we drag Dean, kicking and screaming, back into the hospital. He owes you a favor, and it's worth a shot."

"Fine," Bobby agreed. "I'll go call him up. Take over for me."

He handed Jim the bowl and spoon before walking outside to call in a major favor.

ABCDEFG

Six hours later, Andrew Russell was pulling his 1970 Dodge Challenger into Jim's driveway. Bobby Singer had called him up for the first time in years and asked him to help with the medical care of his nephew. Because Bobby had saved his life more than a few times, he had agreed.

Andy walked to the trunk of his car and picked up all of his bags-he'd packed everything he thought he would need to care for this kid, and all those supplies were in five different duffle bags. He walked towards Jim's front door and knocked.

A boy who couldn't have been older than ten answered. He had long, messy brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a baby face.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"Andy Russell," he answered. "Bobby called me in for Dean..."

"Oh, you're that doctor guy!" he exclaimed, pulling him through the door. "He's upstairs."

Andy walked up the stairs and into the first room on the left, where he saw Bobby standing by a bed. He set his bags down on the ground.

"Hey, Bobby," He offered the hunter his hand. "Is this Dean?"

"Yup," Bobby replied, indicating the skeletal figure that lay underneath the covers.

Andy walked over to the bed and peeled the covers back, just enough so that he could see what he was working with. The boy was definately under a hundred pounds-probably under ninety. His wrists and legs were like toothpicks; his ribs were clearly visable. He needed food in the worst way.

"You said he throws up every time he eats something?" Andy asked, pulling the covers back up. "Have you been giving him something to keep him hydrated?"

"Pedialyte, but he's having a hard time keeping it down," Bobby answered, taking off his hat and wringing it in his hands.

"It was a good idea," Andy complimented, reaching for a needle. "But I think I'm going to start an IV, just to be sure. I'm going to put in a feeding tube, too."

"A feeding tube?" Bobby said, concerned.

"It's just to make sure he gets the calories he needs while we're working on oral feedings," Andy assured the hunter. He shook Dean awake gently. "Dean? I'm Andy. I'm going to be your doctor."

"Bobby, who is he?" Dean asked, looking up at the hunter groggily.

"He's a doctor, Dean," Bobby answered the boy. "He's going to help you. Just relax, okay?"

"Dean, before we get started, I have a few things to tell you. I'll be honest with you if you're honest with me, and I'm here to help. Okay?" Andy told the exhausted teenager. Dean nodded. "So, here's what's going to happen. I've got to start an IV, and then we're going to put in a NG-a nasal feeding tube. It's not going to hurt-it may feel a bit uncomfortable at first, but you'll get accustomed."

"I don't want a feeding tube," Dean protested weakly. "Please, Bobby. Don't make me."

"You need it, Dean," Bobby told him. "Just calm down, okay? It'll only take a few minutes."

Andy reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a needle to start the IV. It was a quick process, and Dean hardly even blinked when the needle broke through his skin. The feeding tube was a different story, though.

As soon as he began feeding the tube through Dean's nose, the boy began to cry. Andy had seen it before-once anorexia had taken hold, the person feared calories above anything else.

The insertation of the tube went according to plan, and Dean was soon recieving his first tube feeding. Andy had decided to go with a proven method-premium ice cream, chocolate spread, and peanut butter. It was the best for weight gain-that and some formula to get everything else in.

Dean looked devastated. Premium ice cream had about 17 grams of fat in each serving, and about 270 calories, and peanut butter had about 94 calories in a table spoon-he'd get _huge, _extremely quickly.

He wanted to run, rip his feeding tube out as fast as he could and just _bolt. _But he couldn't, because Bobby and Andy had planted their asses in the seats next to the bed. Not to mention, he was tired. Extremely tired.

He drifted off to sleep within minutes.

ABCDEFG

Bobby was falling asleep in his chair right by the bed when he heard Dean's screams.

At first, they were just quiet whimpers, but they turned into full-on screams of terror, screams that pierced the otherwise silent house. Dean began thrashing around wildly, sobbing in his sleep. Bobby jumped up and walked over to the boy, shaking him awake.

"Dean! Dean!" he shouted, frantic "Wake up!"

Dean's eyes snapped open quickly, and he looked up at Bobby. His screams died on his lips. His eyes darted towards the door-every adult in the house was rushing into the room, and Jim was holding Sam back. His father kneeled by the side of his bed.

"Dad," Dean sobbed.

"Dean? Are you okay?" John looked at his oldest, examining him for injuries. He'd ripped his IV out, but other than that there was no damage.

"Yeah," Dean answered, calming down. "Sorry."

"Nightmare?" John inquired, sympathetic. When Dean nodded, he asked, "What was it about?"

"Nothing, just me being a little bitch," Dean answered. "Forget about it. I'm sorry."

"Dean, anything that scares you that much isn't stupid," Bobby insisted. "Spill, boy."

"I-I dreamed that I woke up and everyone was gone," Dean admitted. "I just flipped, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, Ace," John said softly. "We're never going to leave you, okay? Now go back to sleep. I'll stay right here."

Jon began to hum "Hey Jude", and Dean's eyelids began to droop. For the first time since he could remember, he felt safe. His father wouldn't let anything happen to him.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or any of it's characters. **

**Thank you guys! You guys give great feedback!**

Four days later, it was Christmas Eve.

When Dean had woken up that morning, Bobby had been sitting in the chair by his bed-someone was always there, to make sure he didn't get up in the middle of the night and purge. The second he realized that Dean was awake, he moved his chair closer to the bed.

"Mornin', Dean," he greeted him gruffly. "Merry Christmas."

"It's Christmas?" Dean asked sleepily. Careful not strain his feeding tube, he rolled over towards him.

"Yup. Well, Christmas Eve anyway," Bobby answered. He watched as Dean's face fell. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not going to get to join in on Christmas," Dean replied, indicating to the IV stand that propped up the bag that held the mixture he was tube-fed.

"Really? Well, I disagree," Bobby grinned. "Andy! Can I get some help in here?"

"Of course. Wouldn't want Dean to miss out on decorating the tree," he replied, picking up the IV stand. Bobby carried Dean down the steps and laid him on the couch, right in front of the Christmas tree. Andy set the IV stand down right in front of an end table. "There we go."

"Cm'on, guys! It's time to start decoratin' the tree!" Bobby bellowed.

"I'll go get them," Andy volunteered. He walked over to the other room.

Sam came running into the room and sat down next to Dean, holding a thick book. "Dean! Dad gave me a present early!"

He thrust a box into Dean's lap, and Dean grinned. It was _Monopoly_, one of Sam's favorite games. Dean really didn't get the thrill, but he supposed Sam enjoyed beating him at it.

"Nice, Sammy," Dean said. "You can beat me later."

Sam grinned and hopped up to put the game away. Dean smiled-his brother was so exuberant, so innocent-he didn't want that to change. He didn't want Sam to end up like him.

Bobby must've noticed the look on his face, because he asked, "What's goin' on?"

"Nothing," Dean lied, wiping the back of his hand across his face to dry his tears.

"Really?" Bobby asked, unconvinced. He knew Dean Winchester better than anyone. "Cm'on, Dean. Fess up."

"Well...Sammy's so innocent," Dean said. "I don't want him to end up like me."

"What would be so wrong about him ending up like you?" Bobby inquired, sitting down by him. "I think you're a pretty goddamn good kid."

"Oh, yeah," Dean said sarcastically. "I sleep fourteen hours a day, I'm fat, and I can't even keep food down. I'm a catch."

"Your not fat," Bobby growled, glaring at the teen. "Ya never have been. As for the rest, your body's healing. I was thinking about how you're smart, funny, and hard workin'."

Dean looked up at Bobby, hardly willing to believe it. "You mean it?"

"I mean it," Bobby promised. "You're a great kid, Dean, and you're gonna become a great man."

At that moment, Caleb, Jim, John, and Andy walked into the room carrying boxes full of ornaments. Sam dashed back in and reached into one of the boxes.

"I remember when we made these!" Sam shouted, pulling out two multicolored ornaments. "Remember, Dean? We filled 'em with paint to make the colors!"

"Yeah, I remember, Sammy," Dean grinned. He was thrilled-he was with family, enjoying a normal holiday.

"Hey, tiger, how about you hang that on the tree?" John suggested as he pinned the star on top of the tree. "Right in front, so we all can see 'em."

Sam did, and for the next half hour the family decorated the tree. It was a rare time for the Winchesters-a time filled with laughter and warmth, instead of fear.

"Dean, you want to put the star on?" John asked, looking at his son. Dean shook his head. "Cm'on, you know you want to."

Dean grinned, and stood up carefully. His legs were weak-he could barely walked the three feet to the tree. But he reached for the star and placed it on the top.

It was a pretty decent tree-it was small, but it was covered in ornaments, lights, and candy canes. Dean imagined the next day, when presents wrapped in brightly-colored paper would lay underneath. He could hardly wait.

ABCDEFG

That evening, Jim and John cooked a big Christmas dinner. There was turkey, mashed potatoes, squash, and tons of other dishes-Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so much food. They all sat around the table and waited to dig in.

"Dean, you sure you want to stay here? Ya don't hafta," Bobby assured the boy-he didn't want Dean to be forced to eat, because it could just set him back.

"Yeah, Bobby," Dean answered, walking into the dining room. He couldn't believe how exhausted he was after walking only a few feet. He was _extremely_ out of shape.

He was wedged in between Bobby and Sam at the table, and John handed him a small plate of food. They'd made Dean a separate meal-toast, chicken soup, and green Jello. Andy had said that they should start small.

They all sat around the table, but no one ate. Dean realized that they were waiting for him to take the first bite. He was nervous-he didn't want to let anybody down, but he wasn't sure he could hold down food.

_Well, it's now or never,_ Dean thought. He dipped his spoon into the broth and held it up to his mouth.

For a second, he wanted to put it down, refuse to eat. He wasn't hungry, didn't want any extra calories in his system. But at the same time, he wanted to eat again. He wanted to be Dean again.

He swallowed the spoonful of broth and waited.

For a moment, he was sure he was going to throw up. His eyes bulged, and he was turning green; Bobby thrust a trash bin underneath his mouth. But it never did come up.

"Good job, Dean," John complimented. Dean looked around the table. Caleb and Bobby were grinning, ear-to-ear. Andy gave an appreciative nod. Pastor Jim winked, and Sammy hugged him tightly. Dean smiled and took a sip of water before trying again.

ABCDEFG

Later that night, after he and Sam had watched every Christmas movie known to man, it was time for bed. Sam had fallen asleep on the couch, leaning against Dean's chest-it was pretty frickin' adorable.

Bobby carried Sam upstairs first, and then came back for Dean. Jim carried the IV behind him, and set it next to the bed when Bobby put Dean down.

"Ya did a good job today, Dean," Bobby told him. "I'm proud of ya."

"Bobby, I hardly managed to get down four bites," Dean reminded him, crawling under the covers. He was tired-he wasn't used to sitting up or walking anymore.

"Yesterday ya got down one, and then ya upchucked," Bobby said. "So it's an improvement, and a pretty major one at that."

"I guess," Dean agreed, but he was unconvinced. If he did such a good job, why did he feel like a failure?

"Well, ya need to get some sleep," Bobby told the boy. "I'm sure Sammy here'll be wakin' ya up in the mornin'."

"Yeah," Dean agreed-his eyes were already closing. "Night, Bobby."

"Night, kiddo," Bobby turned out the lamp and left the room.

Dean was just about to fall asleep for the night when he heard Sam's voice.

"Dean? You awake?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah, S'mmy," he slurred, exhausted. "What's up?"

"Nothin'. I just wanted to say night," Sam replied. "Love you, Dean."

"I love you too, S'mmy," Dean smiled. With that, he fell asleep.

ABCDEFG

When Dean woke up, he was shocked to see the sun shining outside. He figured that Sam would've had him wide awake at the crack of dawn. He looked at the clock that was on the wall-it read 10:42.

"Look who's finally awake," his father walked in, Bobby behind him. "You want to come down and open presents?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. John picked his fragile son up gently, and brought him downstairs. He laid Dean down on the couch, where he could see the tree clearly.

A mountain of presents rested under the tree, waiting to be opened. Sam was sitting at the foot of the tree, looking impatient; Dean laughed. Bobby walked over to him and put a heavy box next to him.

"Go ahead, open it," Bobby laughed at the perplexed expression on Dean's face. "Ya know you want to."

Dean began to unwrap the large box and gasped when he saw what it was.

"_A television_?" Dean exclaimed, staring at the box. "Bobby, that's so expensive. Take it back!"

"Shut up, boy," Bobby growled. Then, more softly, "Do you like it?"

"Like it? I love it!" Dean exclaimed. "_It has a VCR too_?"

"Bobby, that's way too much to spend," John interrupted. "We don't take charity."

"It's not charity, it's a gift," Bobby said. "You're not the only one who cares about your boys, John."

"Yeah, but still-" John began, but Bobby cut him off.

"I left a gift in my car for Sam. Could you help me get it, John?" Bobby asked, venom in his voice. John followed him out to the car.

As soon as they were far enough away from the house, Bobby began to tear into John.

"Listen," he began. "_We all care about Sam and Dean. _If I want to buy the kids a fuckin' TV, I'll buy them a fuckin' TV. Okay? Dean's probably bored as all hell up in that room-it'll give him something to do. If you take that TV away from your son for the sake of your pride, I will _throttle _you."

John was about to protest, make Bobby take the goddamn device back to whatever store he got it at, but then he realized that Bobby was right. Dean didn't have anything to do other than daydream up in that room. So instead, he said in a voice that left no room for an argument, "I'll be paying you back."

"Do whatever the hell you want," Bobby growled, reaching into the truck and pulling out another present. "We better get back in there."

The two hunters walked back inside, where everybody was waiting quietly. Dean was staring at his new TV, in awe-they cost upwards of _a thousand dollars._

"Here ya go, Sammy," Bobby handed the boy the box. Sam tore into it, grinning. Bobby had made this gift special too, so that he wouldn't get jealous; but then again, Sam and Dean never seemed to get jealous of each other.

"Wow!" Sam exclaimed as he stared at the box. "Dad, it's a CD player!"

Sure enough, Bobby Singer had bought his kid a discman.

"That's nice, Sammy," John forced a smile. He grabbed a couple of the presents he'd gotten Sam and Dean from under the tree.

"Here you go, guys," John handed them two packages-he'd spent more than usual this year.

Both boys ripped open the packages and grinned, ear-to-ear.

"Daddy, you got us gameboys?" Sammy exclaimed. "Thank you!"

"Thanks, Dad," Dean grinned. "This is the best Christmas ever!"

John hadn't seen Dean smile that wide in the longest time.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys so much!**

Two days later, it was time for Dean's first weigh-in since leaving the hospital. It wasn't a big production-just him, his father, and Andy. He, personally, was nervous-he still wasn't comfortable with the idea of gaining weight, even if he knew it was the best thing for him.

The scale was on the hardwood floor in the dining room, next to the table. Caleb, Jim, and Sam had gone out to see a movie and get something to eat, and Bobby was in the living room translating some exorcism. He was glad that no one else would be there to see him fail.

"Okay, Dean," Andy said. "Whenver you're ready."

Dean took a hesitant step towards the scale, and then stopped in his tracks. _What if I hit a hundred_? To be honest, nothing scared him more-he'd take death over getting fat.

"It's going to be okay, Dean," John comforted his son. "Just a few more steps."

Dean took a deep breath and walked towards the scale slowly. He stepped on and stared down at the flashing numbers. _98, 102, 81_...and then it settled.

He weighed 94 pounds. Ninty-four freaking pounds. Not only was he furious at himself, he was pissed at every one for getting on his case about his weight. Who _cared _if he dipped below ninety? Why should anyone give a damn, when they never cared about anything else he did?

"Dean? What are you thinking?" Andy asked, studying the look on the boy's face. Disappointment, shock, sadness-it was like reading a book.

"Nothing," Dean lied, his face going blank. "Does this mean the feeding tube can come out?"

"Not yet. You still haven't been able to keep much down," Andy said, apologetic. "Maybe next week, okay?"

"Fine," Dean snapped.

"Dean, why are you being so rude?" John insisted. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," Dean lied. He shouldn't take his anger at himself out on other people. "Sorry, Andy."

"It's fne, Dean," Andy smiled at the boy. "You've done a great job."

_Really? Getting fat is "great?" _Dean thought, stepping off of the scale. On the bright side, in the past week he had been able to walk more and more-he hardly needed any help anymore, except when he attempted to go down the steps.

"I'm tired," Dean lied; those were the two magical words. Whenever he said that he was tired nowadays, they left him alone. They no longer hovered over him, like he was a clumsy three year old, which left him with a lot more time to think. And the ability to purge.

He hadn't taken advantage of it yet-he had been getting a feel for when people came in to check up on him. But today, that would all change.

"Alright," John said, as Dean walked up the stairs. He paused halfway up, to catch his breath, which caused him to hear things he was never supposed to hear.

"So what the hell's going to happen now, Doc?" John asked, reaching into the fridge.

"Our next goal is 98. We've got to do this slowly," Andy answered, putting the scale into the closet.

"This is so embarrassing," John sighed, sipping on his beer. "I can't believe he did this to himself."

When Dean heard that, tears welled in his eyes and he blocked his ears. _He was an embarrassment to his father. _He only weighed them down.

He rushed up the stairs and into his room, stumbling over his own feet. His father's words echoed in his head. _"This is so embarrassing."_

He closed the door behind him and locked it. He pulled the tube out of his nose, gasping as the last bit came out. Fuck gaining weight. Fuck _eating. _Fuck trying to make everybody proud of him. He was through.

He bent over the toilet, threw up, and wiped his mouth. He was feeling shaky-he splashed water on his face and looked in the mirror. He knew that as soon as he walked out without that goddamn feeding tube stuck up his nose, his father would freak out and Andy would just shove another one in. So he decided that he wouldn't go downstairs. He wouldn't stay in the house longer than he had to.

He walked out of the bathroom, grabbed his backpack, and filled it with clothes and the twenty dollars he had saved up. He felt terrible for ditching them like this, but he honestly thought that they would be better off without them. He wrote a short note for Sammy, left it on the bed, and walked back to the bathroom. The window was sticky-it took a bit of manuvering, but he managed to get it far enough open to slide through.

He tossed his backpack through, followed it, and landed quietly on the porch. It was freezing-even through his sweatshirt, he was shivering. Of course he'd make his jailbreak on a day there was a freaking blizzard. But he couldn't go back. They'd force-feed him.

So he ran into the woods and didn't look back.

ABCDEFG

An hour later, John Winchester decided to go check in on Dean. His son had been acting strangely earlier, and John needed to know what was going through the kid's head.

He knocked on the door gently. "Dean?"

When there was no answer, he walked in.

He immeadiatly knew that something was wrong; Dean's IV stand stood in front of the bathroom door, leaking fluid on to the floor, and the room was freezing. He rushed over to the bathroom, shoved the door open. The window was open, and the snow was blowing into the room. _Shit. _

Dean had left.

John walked back out into the bedroom and noticed a piece of paper on Sam's bed, with what looked to be Dean's messy scrawl scribbled upon it. John snatched it up and began to read.

_Hey Sammy, _

_So by the time you get back here, I'll be long gone. I'm sick of being an embarrassment to everybody, and I'm sick of screwing things up for you guys. I just wanted you to know that you've made everything awesome for me. You're the best kid brother a guy could ask for. _

_Dean_

John's hands were trembling as he finished reading the letter; he was _furious. _No, beyond furious. How the _fuck_ could this kid think that he was an embarrassment to the family? How could Dean even contemplate the idea of running away, when he was half of what kept John from going insane?

John dashed downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Dean's gone," he shouted, reaching for his keys. "We've gotta find him. Come on."

"He's gone?" Bobby and Andy asked simaltainiously.

"No, I'm lying," John snapped. "Yes, the kid ripped out his feeding tube and _ran away._ Hurry up, it's snowing like a bitch. He's gonna end up giving himself pneumonia."

"I'll drive," Bobby snatched the keys from John and rushed to the driver's side. "If he's okay, I'm going to kick this kid's ass from here to South Dakota when we find him."

**Sorry for the long wait! There's been some drama in my life over the past week that I had to handle, but it's all good now! I'll update again tomorrow! **


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

Dean was shivering on the side of the road, hardly more than two or three miles from Pastor Jim's house. He couldn't move; he was exhausted, physically and mentally, and he'd thrown up twice. He had thought that he was ready, that he had enough strength for his little jailbreak, but he had been wrong.

He turned around to try to walk back to Jim's house, but his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed into a snow bank. It was really coming down-within five minutes, a thin sheet of snow covered his back.

He was getting tired; he could hardly keep his eyes open. _Maybe if I just took a little rest, _Dean thought. He didn't fight the drowsiness as it pulled him under.

ABCDEFG

Bobby Singer drove down the street at thirty miles an hour, scanning the sides of the street for Dean. They needed to find the kid, before something happened to him. If he wasn't okay-

_You can't think like that_, Bobby chastised himself. Dean would be okay; Dean had to be okay. If he wasn't, the family may very well fall apart.

"Double back, Bobby," John ordered. "He couldn't have gone this far."

Bobby turned around, and two minutes later they passed a bump on the shoulder of the road. He thought nothing of it, until it began to move.

"SHIT!" he shouted, slamming on the breaks. He pulled over to the side of the road and hopped out of the car. "DEAN!"

Dean's arm was hanging out of the snow pile, and Bobby pulled him out. His skin was red and raw, and his lips were blue-he wasn't breathing. John came up beside him, eyes wide when he saw his son.

"DEAN!" he screamed, falling to his knees. He pulled his son over to him and began CPR. "BREATHE, DEAN, BREATHE!"

For a terrifying moment, Dean lied there, lifeless and cold. Then he took a deep breath and began to cough.

"Da...Dad?" he queried. "What's going on?"

John swatted at the tears that ran down his face and cradled his son in his arms. "You scared the shit outta me, kid. Why'd you run away?"

"I...I thought I embarrassed you," Dean answered, beginning to cry. "I'm sorry I'm such a bad kid, Dad."

"Damnit, Dean! You don't embarrass me. You couldn't. You're a fuckin' great kid, you know that?" John told him, picking the boy off of the ground. "Come on, we'll continue this discussion at the hospital."

He carried Dean and placed him in the backseat of the car. Andy was waiting there with a blanket-he wrapped it around Dean, who had begun to shiver violently. John held him closer to his chest.

"It's all going to be alright, Dean," John promised. "It'll all be alright."

ABCDEFG

Two hours later, Dean was lying in a hospital bed yet again.

He knew he was in for the long haul this time-the doctors had hooked him up to a feeding tube and said he wasn't going to leave for at least a week. If he had to be in here, he was glad his family was next to him-he didn't know what had gotten into him when he had left.

When he had first arrived at the hospital, they had stuck him in a warm bath because his core temperature was low-only 94.8 degrees. After that, he'd been given dry scrubs and shoved into bed, where they had covered him with tons of blankets. But he was still cold, and couldn't stop shivering.

"Dean, are you okay?" John asked, pacing anxiously across the room. The doctors had told him that Dean was at an increased risk for contracting an illness, because the cold had compromised his immune system. He was freaking out.

"Y-y-yeah," Dean answered, teeth chattering. "F...fine."

John sighed, then turned to Bobby and Andy. "Could you guys go down to the cafeteria for a minute? I need to have a conversation with my son."

"Are you sure that's the best idea, John?" Bobby asked, eyes flickering between the two. "Dean needs his rest right now."

"Bobby, I'm just going to talk to him," John answered. "Give me twenty minutes, alright?"

Bobby looked towards Dean, who nodded at him. Bobby sighed and said, "Cm'on, Andy. Ya can buy me a cup of coffee."

The two men exited the room. leaving Dean and John alone.

John took a seat by Dean's bed.

"Dean, I'm so sorry for all of this," he began, running his hands down his face. "It's all my fault."

"Dad, you didn't do anything," Dean began, but John cut him off.

"I remember what I said to you on that night," he interrupted. "I can't believe I said that. I'm so goddamn sorry, and I know this is all my fault."

"It's alright, Dad," Dean attempted to comfort his father. "I mean, I shouldn't have..."

"Dean, stop trying to blame these things on yourself," John cut in. "None of this was your fault. It's all over now, you hear? We're going to get over this shit now. All of us."

"Okay, Dad," Dean agreed.

"There's just one question I have for you, though," John said hesitantly. "Dean, how could you feel like you embarrass us?"

A bright red blush covered Dean's cheeks.

"I don't know, Dad," he answered, tears forming in his eyes. "Maybe it's because I can't do anything right, besides hunting. And I can't even do that anymore."

"Dean, you do a ton of things better than anybody else I know," John insisted. "Who else can solve polynomial equations and irrational roots and all that math shit that you do so well? Who else can sprint a hundred meters in twelve seconds? Who else can entertain Sam as well as you do?"

"I guess," Dean said, unconvinced.

"Dean, you're an important part of this family," John told his son. "We would be fucked without you, and you know why? You've got a level head. You're smart, kind, compassionate, and funny-just like your mother. We need you, Dean."

Dean believed his father, for the first time in a long time. He was worth it. He belonged in the family, and he wasn't an embarrassment. He would get over this eating disorder, with the help of his family.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much!**

Ten days later, Dean was returning to Pastor Jim's house.

While he was in the hospital, he had marked significant milestones. His second day into his stay, he had managed to keep an entire bowl of chicken broth down, and by his seventh day in the hospital he had gained back a pound. Of course, it hadn't all been rainbows and butterflies; on his fifth day in the hospital, he had been "thraped". Some hack shrink had come to his bed and tried to force him to talk about his feelings. It had been the most awkward half hour of his life.

But it was all good now, because he was out of there.

As he packed the last of his belongings into his backpack, he looked around the room he had inhabited for the last ten days. He wouldn't miss it, but he had worked through a lot of issues in this room.

"Ready, Deano?" John asked, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder carefully. Although Dean seemed to be an entirely different person these days, he was still fragile.

"Yeah, Dad," Dean answered, grinning. He was _so _out of here.

"Well, than let's go," John smiled. They walked out of the bedroom and into the main hallway.

Two nurses were standing by a cart, chatting-they were Dean's favorite nurses. They spotted him and walked over.

"_Don't _come back and visit," Joann, a kind young woman, joked.

"Don't plan on it, sister," Dean retorted, grinning.

"Actually, you do," John interjected. "You have a check-up two weeks from now."

"We'll have a cake ready for you," Sarah teased. Dean's face fell only slightly before he retorted, "I got you two wrapped around my finger."

"That you do," Joann agreed, hugging him. "You're gonna kick this thing, Dean. I know you will."

"Good luck, kid," Sarah pulled him into an embrace. "You're going to do fine."

Dean smiled. "Thanks, guys. For everything."

John and Dean walked out to the Impala, where Dean shoved his backpack into the backseat. He took the shotgun seat, next to his father, and fiddled with the radio.

"Nuh-uh, Ace," John smirked, slapping the boy's hand away playfully. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shots his cake hole."

"But I'm just getting out of the hellhole-oops, I meant hospital," Dean grinned. "Please, Dad? Just one song?"

"Fine," John gave in as they pulled out of the parking lot. Dean quickly changed the station until he found an ACDC song that he liked.

"Dad, what do you think Sam's going to say when I get home?" Dean asked; it was the only real concern that he had been thinking about.

"Dean, it's going to be fine," John promised. "Sam's a smart kid; he's not going to be pissed because you were sick."

"Are you sure?" Dean inquired, still worried. "I don't want him to think any of this is his fault, you know?"

"It's not your's, either," John reminded him as they pulled into the driveway. "He's not going to hate you, Dean."

"You don't know that," Dean stepped out of the car. "I really screwed..._damn._"

His sentence trailed off as Dean noticed a massive banner that hung from the support beams on the porch. _Welcome Home, Dean! _it read. Balloons were tied to the wooden slates, and Caleb, Jim, Bobby, Andy, and Sam stood in front of the porch. Sam came running towards him, and hugged him.

"Dean! I missed you!" Sam exclaimed, taking his hand and dragging him inside. "We decorated the whole house. There's a cake and pizza and I helped Caleb put up streamers."

"I just know, Dean," John told his son, smiling.

Dean grinned back, following Sam inside. His family truly cared about him.

ABCDEFG

They truly had gone all out with decorating. Streamers hung from the ceiling, and balloons were everywhere. The table was covered with a white table cloth, and china plates were set out. Dean's breath hitched in his throat; they did this for _him. _

"We got your favorite pizza and everything," Sam announced proudly. "Sit down next to Caleb, okay? I'm gonna get some pizza for you."

Dean chuckled and sat down by Caleb, who was chowing down on a piece of sausage and onion pizza. This was his first family meal in what felt like forever, and he was going to enjoy it.

Sam handed him a plate with two slices of buffalo chicken pizza on it, and he picked one up. The rest of the group was still chatting, but at the same time Dean could feel them watching him, expecting him to throw a fit over the calories in a piece of pizza-he knew that it was about 324, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he took a deep breath, said a silent prayer that it would stay down, and took a bite.

There was a murmur of general approval from the group, and they went back to talking about whatever. Dean polished off the rest of the slice and then sat back, stuffed. He couldn't eat another bite.

"Dean, aren't you going to eat more?" John asked, looking up. His son had only finished a piece, and was now pushing his plate away. "You can't be full."

"Yeah, I am actually," Dean replied, taking a sip of water. "Plus I'm trying to save room for cake."

"But still, you only had a piece," John insisted. "Take a few more bites, okay?"

"Dad, I don't have any room," Dean said. "I'm not trying to get out of eating-there's just no way I could eat any more."

"John, he's telling the truth," Andy told the hunter. "He stopped eating for a period of time, so his stomach has literally shrunk. It's going to take a while before he can eat normal portions."

John thought that that was bullshit, but he let it go.

Dean was shooting the breeze with Caleb when Bobby came in with the cake. He placed the circular, lopsided concoction in front of Dean.

It was obviously homemade, with chocolate frosting and bright green icing that spelled out _DEAN_ in Sam's messy scrawl. Dean smiled and looked over at Sammy.

"Thanks, bro," he said to Sam, who was beaming from ear to ear.

"I made it, Dean! You see that? I wrote it. Bobby only had to help me cook it, but I did the frosting and everything," Sam exclaimed. "Do you want a piece?"

Dean was torn; he was fit to burst, but he also didn't want Sam to be disappointed. So he nodded, and said, "Just a little piece, okay?"

Sam nodded and cut him a piece that seemed to encompass the entire left half of the cake. Dean looked it over carefully- _100, 200, 300-_there had to be at least 600 calories in that slice!

For a moment, he considered shoving it away, but then he realized that he wasn't thinking straight. He didn't need to worry about losing weight; he needed to worry about gaining weight. If he didn't gain some weight, healthily, he was going to die.

So he picked at the piece, and ate as much as his already full stomach could handle. But he was still pushing away a pretty large piece of cake when he was finished.

John's lips were pursed, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm goin' to clear the table," Bobby announced. "Y'all need to move your asses outta here."

Everyone dispersed, except for Dean and Sam.

"Dean, you want to go upstairs and watch _E.T. _with me?" Sam asked, excited. He had his brother back! "Bobby got it for me for Christmas."

"I know, Sammy, I was there," Dean chuckled. "Sure."

The two brothers walked upstairs, side by side. When they entered the bedroom, Dean collapsed onto the bed; it had been a long, exhausting day, but in a good way. He had managed to keep down an entire meal, and his family was beginning to trust him.

"Dean?" Sam said. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean replied. "I am too."

**From now on, it's all about Dean's recovery. **


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much!**

The next morning when Dean woke up, he realized that it was snowing. He grinned and hopped out of bed to go to the window. It was really coming down, to the point that you couldn't see more than a few feet.

He walked as fast as he could to Sam's bed; his legs were still shaky, because he hadn't been walking much. He shook the boy awake. Sam's eyes opened slowly, and he yawned. "Dean? What's a'matter?"

"It's snowing, Sammy," Dean told the groggy child. "Wanna have a snow ball fight?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam answered, suddenly excited. "Gimme a minute."

"Sure, I gotta grab a shower anyway," Dean said. "Be ready in ten."

He grabbed a change of clothes out of the dresser and walked over to the bathroom. As he was stripping, he glanced into the mirror-was that a bulge he saw?

_No Dean, you're not fat,_ he chastised himself. He really needed to get that through his head. He wrapped his casted right arm in a trash bag, and then jumped into the shower. He automatically turned the water temperature to cold, but then he remembered that he was through with his diet, and turned it up to a comfortable temperature.

After ten minutes of letting the warm water take away his aches and pains, he turned it off and got dressed. They would go downstairs, and he would whip them up something to eat before they went outside to have a snowball fight. He loved the snow.

"Sam! Cm'on!" he shouted, taking his time walking down he steps. He didn't want to fall and risk breaking another bone.

He walked into the kitchen, where his father was sitting and reading the paper. Bobby was standing over the stove, scrambling eggs; Dean took a seat by his father.

"Hey Dad," Dean greeted him.

"Hey Dean," John replied, turning the page. "Got plans for the day?"

"Well, Sam and I are going to have a snowball fight," Dean answered as Bobby put a plate in front of him. It was a small portion of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast. "Then, I thought we'd watch a movie or something."

"Dean, you can't go outside," John put down the paper and stared at his son. "You have a cast that can't get wet, and you're still not in peak condition."

"But Dad, cm'on," Dean pleaded. "I just want to have a snow ball fight with my kid brother, okay? I want things to be normal."

"Dean, I'm sorry, but you can't," John insisted. "It'll still be snowing in a couple weeks, and your cast will be off by then."

"But Dad, I told Sam I would," Dean whined. "Please, just for ten minutes."

"I'm sorry, Dean, you can't," John held his ground and picked the paper back up. "I'll explain to Sam."

Dean sighed and ate a few forkfuls of scrambled eggs before he was full. He took a sip of coffee and then pushed his chair away from the table. "I'm going back to bed."

"Ya sure? I figured that we could all watch movies or somethin'," Bobby offered. He knew that Dean was disappointed, but he also knew that the boy couldn't go outside and risk catching pneumonia.

"No thanks, Bobby," Dean answered as Sam ran into the room, dressed in his winter jacket, hat, and gloves.

"I'm ready, Dean!" Sam exclaimed. His face fell when Dean walked right past him and up the staircase. He heard the door slam a few seconds later. "What's wrong with Dean?"

"Nothing, tiger," John answered his youngest. "He can't go outside, because it could get him sick."

"But I wanted to play with him," Sam pouted, plopping down in a chair.

"Sorry Sammy, but you're going to have to wait for a bit, okay?" John told him. "If you want, I'll come out to play with you in a minute."

"It's not the same," Sam pouted, standing up. "I wanted to play with Dean."

With that, he stomped over to the door and slammed it.

"I just can't fuckin' win!" John shouted, dropping the paper. "I'm the bad guy in this situation? Really? I don't want the kid to catch his death out there, and I'm the asshole!"

"John, shut yer trap!" Bobby ordered. "You're not the asshole in this situation, and neither is Dean. He knows you just want what's best for him, but he also want things to get back to normal. So of course he's pissed off that he can't go out and have a snowball fight with his brother like he used to. You just have to give him time."

"I guess," John sighed, standing up. "I'm going to go play with Sam for a while, give Dean some time to cool off before I talk to him."

"Good idea," Bobby agreed. "Go ahead, I'll wash your plate for ya."

John walked outside and over to where Sam was standing. The boy was throwing snowballs at the house. "Go away."

"Not a chance, kiddo," John told him. "You alright?"

"Awesome," Sam answered sarcastically.

"Really? 'Cause if I were you, I wouldn't be," John replied. "I'd be pretty scared, actually."

Sam dropped the snowball that was in his clenched fist. "You're not scared of anything."

"Really? Because I was pretty scared about what was happening with Dean," John said. "It was like I couldn't help him, you know?"

Sam nodded and a lone tear snaked down his cheek. "Daddy, was this my fault?"

John was a little taken aback; his son hadn't called him Daddy in some time. But he shook his head.

"Why would any of this be your fault, Sammy?" John asked.

"If I noticed in time, Dean wouldn't be this sick," Sam answered. "I'm really sorry."

"Sammy. Listen to me carefully," John began, putting his hands on his son's shoulders. "None of this was your fault. It's on me, okay?"

"But if I noticed..." Sam began.

"It's not your fault, Sammy," John insisted, and Sam nodded. "Now, you want to have a snowball fight or what? I may not be as good as Dean, but I can sure manage."

"Yeah, I'm gonna beat you!" Sam shouted, scooping up a handful of snow and throwing it at his father.

The snowball fight was epic, but was over quickly. Sam grew cold, and they walked in to get some hot chocolate. John decided to take the opportunity to talk to Dean.

He walked upstairs and knocked on the closed bedroom door.

"Go away," Dean's muffled response came through the door.

John walked right in. Dean was lying under the covers in bed, watching what looked to be _Terminator 2: __Judgment__ Day. _His eyes flickered off of the screen for a fraction of a second towards John.

"What do you want?" Dean asked. "Am I not allowed to watch this movie?"

"Drop the attitude, Ace," John ordered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I came to make sure that you were alright."

"I'm fine," Dean said. "Now go."

"You know, I didn't say you couldn't go outside just to be a jerk," John told his eldest. "I don't want you to get sick."

"I wouldn't have gotten sick," Dean insisted.

"Really, Ace?" John raised an eyebrow. "You have no fat to cushion your falls, or keep you warm. You'd catch your death."

Dean sighed. "I just want to be normal."

"There's no such thing as normal, Ace," John smiled, pulling Dean into his chest. He hugged his son close to him. "But you're going to get better, alright? And then you and Sam can do what ever you want."

Dean smiled and nodded.

"Thanks for dealing with my crap, Dad," Dean whispered, leaning into his father's chest even though he knew he was far too old.

"No problem, kid," John replied, hugging his son. "It's all going uphill from here."


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys for over 200 reviews!**

The next day, Dean woke up around 7:45 in the morning. It was freezing, and he knew there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. He looked over towards Sammy's bed, but it was empty. Perplexed, he rolled out of bed and walked down the stairs.

A delicious scent was coming from the kitchen-he walked towards it, mouth watering. Sam was sitting at the table, eating chocolate chip pancakes and having a cup of hot chocolate. Bobby was standing over the stove, cooking; he was the best chef in the group of hunters. When the hunter turned around, he was shocked to see Dean standing there.

"What are ya doin' up?" Bobby asked. Dean walked over to the table, shivering; it was freezing.

"Couldn't sleep," Dean answered. His teeth were chattering, and he had to work hard to keep from sliding off of his chair. He looked over at Sammy. "W-why are you awake?"

"I've got school, Dean," Sam answered, taking another bite of his pancake.

Dean had forgot that it was Monday, and Sam would have school. From 8:30 in the morning to 3:30 in the afternoon, he would be alone.

"Oh, y-yeah," Dean replied, rubbing his arms. Didn't anybody else realize that it was freezing?

"You cold, kiddo?" Bobby asked gently. It was warm in the house, but he knew that this was a side effect of this damn disease the kid was fighting; he had no body fat, so he had no insulation.

Dean nodded. "C-could you turn up the heat?"

Bobby walked over to the thermostat and turned it up to 75. Then he poured Dean a mug of hot chocolate, put some marshmallows in, and set it in front of him. "Drink that and put a sweatshirt on, okay?"

Dean nodded and took a swig, as Sam stood up and put his plate in the sink. He pulled on his coat and put on his backpack.

"The bus'll be here soon," Sam told Dean. "Have a good day, Dean."

"You too, Sammy," he replied as Sam walked out the door. He let out a dejected sigh as the boy walked out.

"You alright, boy?" Bobby asked, concerned. He didn't want Dean feeling depressed at all right now, not when he was at such a crucial stage in his recovery.

"Yeah, Bobby," Dean answered, taking a sip of hot chocolate.

"Don't lie to me, son," Bobby chided gently, sitting by him. "Tell me what's goin' on."

"I just don't know what I'm going to do over the next few days," Dean told Bobby. "Sam's not around, I'm not allowed outside-I love my TV and gameboy and everything, but there's only so many times I can watch _Jaws_."

Bobby nodded. Dean worried that Bobby would think he didn't appreciate the amazing gifts that the hunter had bought him, and opened his mouth to apologize.

"I know how ya feel," Bobby agreed. "After a couple days in the house, I feel a bit stir crazy too. What do ya wanna do?"

"I'm not sure," Dean answered, pushing the hot chocolate away.

"Well, how 'bout you and I go run some errands?" Bobby asked, standing up. He reached into the cabinet for the meal replacement shakes that Dean drank to replace the calories he couldn't eat. He also grabbed a packet of oatmeal; it was on the list of foods that would help Dean to recover.

The doctors had recommended laying off of the major carbs for a while, and focusing on a diet rich in whole grains and lean proteins. They aimed for a caloric intake of at least a thousand calories a day, but they were usually lucky to get eight hundred in before Dean couldn't eat another bite; as such, he drank at least one meal replacement shake a day.

Bobby set the bowl of oatmeal in front of Dean and sat down by him to eat his own breakfast. It made Dean feel a bit less self conscious if he wasn't the only one eating.

Dean ate about half of the oatmeal before he was full. He threw the rest out and washed the dish in the sink. Then, turning back to Bobby, he said, "I don't think so. I'm just not feeling up to it."

But Bobby wasn't about to leave the teenager alone; the last time that they had given him his space, he had run away. "Cm'on, please? I get lonely all by myself."

He knew that it was a dirty trick, but it worked; Dean answered, "I guess."

Dean walked up the stairs and into his room; both beds were unmade, so he made them both up. He pulled on a pair of jeans that his father had purchased from Goodwill and a sweatshirt; John had finally accepted that he would need to buy clothes that fit Dean's current frame. Over his sweatshirt, Dean put on his leather jacket; it had fit him perfectly two months ago, but now he looked like a toddler who dressed in his father's clothes.

Before walking downstairs, he looked in the mirror; he almost gasped, because he saw a boy who weighed at least sixty pounds more than him. He wanted to run, vomit, exercise; he wanted to restrict his calories again.

But instead, he closed his eyes and turned away from the mirror. "You are not fat. You are not fat."

"Your right, you're not," Bobby agreed, walking into the room. "Ya don't really see yourself right when ya look in the mirror, do ya?"

"No. I think I'm huge, no matter how small I get," Dean answered honestly. "I don't want it to be like this anymore, Bobby."

"I know, kiddo," Bobby replied. "We've just got to keep working on it, alright?"

"Yeah," Dean walked out of the room, and Bobby followed. "What do we have to do today?"

"Well, I gotta send a letter up to Rufus, pick up some groceries, and I was thinkin' we could pick you out some new clothes," Bobby answered, as they exited the house into the bright sunlight. The snow glistened under the powerful rays, and it was surreal. But Dean was cold, so he hopped in Bobby's pickup truck and blasted the heat.

"So do you have anythin' ya want to do?" Bobby asked as he backed out of the driveway. "I've got the entire day."

"Not really," Dean answered, pulling his legs to his chest. He really didn't feel like himself anymore; he hadn't for a long time. He laughed for Sam and John, smiled to keep everybody happy; but ever since he'd let this thing overtake him, he had lost himself. Today was just one of the days that it was particularly bad. If he hadn't promised himself he would quit, he would have cut.

"Dean, what's up?" Bobby asked, glancing at the boy. He was curled up in a ball, sitting on the seat. It was obvious to Bobby that his mind wasn't there. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean snapped out of his trance and turned his head towards Bobby.

"What's goin' on?" Bobby repeated. "You seem kinda outta it."

"Nothing," Dean lied. He couldn't trouble Bobby with his problems.

"Nothin' my ass," Bobby growled. "Spill it, Winchester. I can read ya like a book."

"It's just that I don't feel like me anymore, Bobby," he answered. "There's this-this _emptiness _inside me, like a deep, dark hole that keeps getting bigger and bigger. And it makes me want to cut again."

Bobby did his best not to gasp. Dean was hurting, seriously hurting, and there was nothing he could do about it. He looked over to the boy, and asked, "Do you want me to get'cha a counselor or something? Is there anything I can do for ya?"

"I don't want to talk to anybody," Dean insisted as Bobby pulled into the post office parking lot. "And I don't want to sound like a bitchy chick, but talking to you does help a lot."

"Well, you know I'm always here for ya, kiddo," Bobby said as they walked up to the mailbox and dropped the letter in. "I was wonderin'-after this, do you wanna come back to the salvage yard for a bit? You, Sammy, and your Daddy?"

"I don't know if Dad would go for that," Dean answered, bitting his lip. "But I know that Sammy and me would love it."

"I'll talk to him when we get down to the wire," Bobby told the boy as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed to the supermarket. "There anythin' special you want for dinner tonight?"

"Nah," Dean shook his head. They were pulling into the parking lot, when Dean saw a group of guys his age. He ducked his head. _Shit._

"Dean? Ya alright?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, Bobby," Dean answered. "Can I stay in the car? Please?"

"Why?" Bobby asked. Then he glanced out of the windshield and saw the group of teenagers. "Do you know any of them?"

"No, but they'll stare," Dean said. "Please, Bobby."

"Dean, if Sam was afraid of the exact same thing, what would ya say?" Bobby asked, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

"I'd agree with him and let him stay?" Dean suggested hopefully.

"That's bull, and you know it," Bobby told the boy gently. "You'd tell him to stop bein' an _idjit_, and that you'd protect him. And ya would follow through. Plus, there not gonna say nothin'."

"Fine," Dean replied.

Dean sighed and stepped out of the car. But when they past them, nothing happened.

"I'm always right, boy," Bobby told him. "Don't you forget it."

**Thoughts?**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much!**

A couple of days later, Dean was lounging around the house, looking for something to do. He had spent the morning with Jim at the church, helping him to put the songbooks in the pews and running off copies of the music sheet for the choir, and had just finished watching "The Godfather". Bobby was out running errands, Sam was at school, and Caleb was asleep; the only person awake was his father, and he was out in the garage.

Dean decided to go see what his Dad was doing, even though he wasn't supposed to go outside. He pulled on a jacket and walked out to Jim's garage.

John had it closed; Dean knocked on it a couple of times before he opened it up.

"I thought I told you to stay inside," John growled, pulling the boy into the garage. He was shivering, so John took off his own jacket and wrapped it around Dean's shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just bored," Dean answered, leaning against the wall. "What's up with the Impala?"

"Nothing, I'm just giving it a tune up and changing the oil," John answered as he wiped his hands on a towel.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Dean asked, pulling the jacket tighter around his shoulders.

"Nah, I'm just about done here," John answered. "Why? You bored?"

"Kinda," Dean answered sheepishly. "Can we do something?"

"Sure," John answered automatically; he had nothing to do. "You got any ideas?"

"Well, I was kinda thinking-maybe it's about time you taught me how to drive," Dean suggested, that lopsided grin coming out. "I mean, in a week I'm going to be fourteen, and the most I've ever done is back the car up a couple feet."

"Alright," John agreed, amused. "Go change into something warm and meet me here in a couple minutes. But know this-if you crack up my baby, I will kill you."

Dean grinned at his father and handed him his jacket. "You're the best Dad ever!"

He ran back into the house and up to his bedroom. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, his favorite plain white t-shirt, and a sweatshirt before running back outside. John had the Impala pulled into the driveway, and Dean automatically walked towards the passenger side.

"Hold up," John said. "I thought you wanted to drive?"

"Oh yeah," Dean grinned and walked towards the other side.

He had to move the seat up a bit to reach the pedals, but other than that he was fine. He adjusted all of his mirrors and then looked at John expectantly.

"Okay, so the Impala has an automatic transmission," John explained. "You have to pull the lever in to move it. Right now, you want to go into reverse."

Dean pulled the lever and shifted into reverse. He began to back up slowly, and John began to dictate his turn.

"Now, turn the wheel towards to the left," John ordered, and Dean pulled out to the street. He shifted the car into drive and began down the street slowly. "Hey, you're a natural."

"Thanks," Dean said as he braked at a stop sign. He turned on his blinker and took a right.

They were driving past a McDonald's when John's stomach grumbled. He asked, "Hey, Dean, you hungry? I'm buying."

Dean's hands tightened on the wheel, and his knuckles turned white. He wasn't ready to eat that kind of food, physcially or mentally.

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry, Dean," John apologized. He felt like a complete asshole-what was he thinking? Dean wouldn't want McDonald's!

"It's fine," Dean assured his father, turning into the McDonald's parking lot. He parked the car right next to the building.

John was suprised, but took Dean's lead. When they got to the menu, Dean looked pained. He spent at least ten minutes trying to decide on something to eat. 

"I think I'll get a hamburger happy meal," Dean decided eventually. He turned to John. "Will you order for me? I'll get us a seat."

Dean walked off, and John ordered their food. He carried the tray to the table Dean had picked out-it was in the corner of the restraunt, where no one else would be able to see them.

"Here you go," John handed his son the yellow and red box. Dean opened it and grimaced at the Barbie doll that came with the meal. Then he pulled the burger out of the wrapper.

He unwrapped it and held it in his hands, preparing himself to take a bite. He glanced at the burger, and guessed that it contianed at least 300 calories. He wanted to set it down and refuse to eat.

Instead, he took a bite.

For a moment, it stayed down, but then Dean turned green. John looked around, picked up a trash barrel, and put it under Dean's mouth just in time for the boy to vomit violently.

When he was sure that Dean was through being sick, John put the trash barrel down and helped his son up. This was his fault; Dean hadn't been ready for this, but John had forced it on him. He felt like shit.

He helped the boy into the passenger seat and began the drive back to Bobby's. Dean was staring out the window, and wouldn't say a word. John prayed that this wouldn't cause a set back.

He parked the car next to Bobby's truck and behind Caleb's Pontiac; they must have gotten home while they were out. John took the keys out of the ignition and watched as Dean ran inside.

He sighed and followed.

When he got in, Dean was heading up the stairs, and Bobby and Caleb were standing in the kitchen, looking perplexed.

"What happened with Deuce?" Caleb asked.

"He got sick at McDonald's," John answered, tossing the keys on the counter.

"You took him to McDonald's? That shit's way too greasy for him right now!" Caleb shouted. Then, after a pause, "Is he okay?"

"I think so, physically," John answered. "The food just didn't agree with him. But I don't know how he's doing mentally."

"Well I've made him lunch," Bobby stated, reaching for the lean turkey sandwhich on whole grain bread that he made Dean. "I'll find out for you two _idjits._"

**Sorry for the short chapter-it's been a busy week! **


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**Sorry for the short chapters and long wait in the past week, it's been busy! I'm planning on putting up another chapter either later tonight or tomorrow. As always, thanks for all of the views, favorites, reviews, and alerts you guys have given me!**

Bobby knocked on the door to Dean's room.

"Go away," his muffled response came, but Bobby walked in anyway.

Dean was lying face down on the bed with a pillow over his head. When he heard Bobby enter the room, he threw the pillow at the wall and glared at the sandwich Bobby carried.

"I'm not hungry," Dean told the hunter.

"Tough," Bobby replied, setting the sandwich down on the nightstand. "You alright?"

"No, I'm pissed off and totally humiliated," Dean answered, "I threw up in the middle of a restaurant."

"Actually, from the way your daddy told it, ya threw up in the corner of a restaurant," Bobby corrected Dean, who groaned and threw a pillow at him.

"Yeah, you're helping," Dean said, but Bobby could tell that his mood was improving. "It was just really embarrassing, you know? I can't even eat a frickin' kiddie meal at McDonald's with out spewing."

"I know, Dean, but ya gotta look on the bright side of things. Your on your way to being healthy again," Bobby pointed out. "We've just got to keep working on it."

"I guess," Dean said, reaching for the sandwich. He took a bite and then grimaced at Bobby. "What is this shit?"

"It's turkey," Bobby answered, pretending to be hurt. "I made it just for ya."

"Why, to kill me?" Dean joked as he took another bite. "Thanks, Bobby."

"No problem, kid," Bobby replied. "You know, your daddy didn't mean to force ya to do anything ya didn't want to. Between you and me, he can be an _idjit _sometimes."

"I know," Dean chuckled. He pushed the remainder of the sandwich towards Bobby. "I think I'm going to go to bed for a bit, alright?"

"Sure," Bobby answered. "See ya in a bit, Dean."

ABCDEF

Bobby was halfway down the stairs when John came towards him.

"Is he okay? Is he angry? Did he eat the sandwich?" John interrogated.

"Ya, no, and ya," Bobby answered. "He's tired, and he wanted to go to bed."

"You don't think he's gong to throw it up, do you?" John asked, nervous. "Goddamn it, I'm an idiot!"

"John, calm down!" Bobby barked. "Dean's fine. Yes, you're an _idjit_, but you always have been and the boy forgives you every time."

"Alright," John ran a hand down his face and composed himself. They walked into the kitchen, and he grabbed a beer and sat down.

"Dean's birthday is next week," Bobby said, washing the dish. "What are you thinking?"

"I figured we could have one here," John answered. "A cake, pizza, that kind of thing."

"Sounds good," Bobby agreed. "Ya don't want to go out right now-it could make him even more self-conscious about eatin' than he already is."

"Yeah," John said absent minded. "But we've got to work on that before we leave next week."

"You're leaving next week?" Bobby asked, shocked. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Sam can keep an eye on Dean," John answered as he downed the rest of his beer. He walked over to the fridge, found a bottle of whiskey, and began to drink it straight out of the bottle. "And there's a hunt up in Massachusetts that I've been looking at."

"Why don't ya send Caleb to get it?" Bobby asked, furious. John couldn't even stay for a while to give Dean a few days to recover? What the hell was his problem?

"Because I'm getting rusty, and we've taken enough from you, Caleb, and Jim. Sam and Dean will be able to handle it," John insisted. "We're leaving next Tuesday."

"John, how much of an _idjit _are you?" Bobby asked. "Your son is recovering from a fucking _eating disorder. _He needs a stable environment."

"No, he needs to get back on his feet," John countered. "We're leaving. I'll show Sam how to keep an eye on Dean-"

"_Sam is nine,_" Bobby hissed. "He shouldn't be held responsible for this, just like Dean shouldn't be held responsible for raising your son. Get yer head out of yer ass and realize that, alright?"

"_Singer, I'm doing the best fucking job I can_," John growled, glaring at Bobby. "Dean needs to realize that he has responsibilities in this family, and Sam does too. They need to look out for each other, and I need to look out for them by killing anything that could hurt them."

"If you need to go, go ahead," Bobby told the stubborn _idjit_. "But leave Dean and Sam here. They need to feel normal right now, especially Dean. He needs stability, and he's not going to get that by moving from motel to motel every other week. Let us take care of him."

"We don't taking fucking charity," John hissed, furious. "We're out of here next week."

"Just for yer fuckin' pride?" Bobby growled. "You're going to risk Dean's health just to prove that ya don't need anyone's help? You're an _idjit, _Winchester!"

"Bobby, they're my kids and I can do whatever the hell I want!" John thundered back. "_Stop trying to be their fucking father!" _

"What's going on?" Dean asked from the top of the stairs. He had heard the two hunters shouting from his room and had come to make sure they didn't fight; he cared too much about both of them.

"Nothing, son," John answered, glaring at Bobby. "Go back to sleep."

"Yeah, that's going to happen," Dean walked down the stairs. "What the hell is going on?"

"Tell him," Bobby insisted, venom in his voice. "Or I will."

"Fine," John snapped at Bobby before turning to Dean. "Son, there's a hunt that needs my attention, so we'll be leaving next week."

For a moment, Dean just stood there, stunned. He looked at John, then at Bobby, then back to John. Eventually, he found his voice. "But Dad, I don't think I'm ready."

"You are," John insisted, sitting back down and reaching for his beer. "You've got another week, okay? And Sam can keep an eye on you."

"Dad, I don't want Sam to have to keep an eye on me," Dean said. "I want to get better and stay well, and the only way I can do that is by working through it."

"Dean, I'm sorry, but we've got to leave," John told his oldest. "I know you don't want to, and I don't want to either, but we've got to do it."

"That's a lie," Dean whispered, turning away from his father. All his Dad cared about was hunting; it was like he didn't even matter.

"Excuse me?" John asked, pissed off. "Turn around and say that again, please."

"I said that's a lie," Dean responded, turning around. "Of _course_ you want to hunt. That's all you care about. You don't care who it hurts or how it affects our family. It's purely selfish, and you know it."

Dean stood there, waiting for the explosion. When it came, it was spectacular.

"It's selfish?" John said, his voice low and as cold as ice. "It's selfish, how I'm going after the thing that killed your mother? It's selfish that I kill demons and ghouls and beings that murder innocent people? Yeah, I'm the selfish one Dean. You know what I think? I think that you've been pretty goddamn selfish with this entire eating disorder thing. You scared the shit out of all of us, nearly fucking scarred Sammy for life, and I'm the selfish one? You need to grow the fuck up."

For a moment, everything was silent. Then, Bobby walked over to John Winchester and pulled him off of the chair.

"Get out," Bobby ordered, pushing the drunken hunter out of the house. "Get the fuck out, and don't come back."

John sneered, threw the whiskey bottle on to the ground, and stormed out of the room. Bobby heard the door slam, the engine of John's car start, and he was gone.

That's when Bobby realized that Dean was crying.

"Dean, none of that was your fault," Bobby comforted the boy. "Your Daddy got drunk and said a few things that he'll regret. Just ignore him, okay?"

But Dean shook his head.

"No, he won't regret it," Dean sniffled, walking over to the counter. He took some napkins and began to mop up the spilled whiskey. "He'll come back eventually, and it'll be like nothing ever happened."

He threw out the napkins and walked upstairs, leaving Bobby standing in the kitchen. He was still furious-how the _hell _could John have done this to his son? When he got back, Bobby would kill him.

Hopefully, John's words wouldn't kill Dean.


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much!**

A couple of minutes after Dean went upstairs, Bobby realized that he should be up there comforting the teenager. So he moved his ass up the stairs and stood in front of Dean's bedroom. He knocked on the door gently, and Dean replied, "I don't want to talk."

Bobby pushed open the door and walked in. Dean was sitting on his bed, pocket knife in his hand. Bobby ran over to him and ripped the blade out of his hand.

"Dean, what the hell!" he began, but then he realized that the teenager was crying. Not just crying, but full out _sobbing. _Tears cascaded down his face, and his breathing was uneven.

"It-it's all my fault, Bobby," he cried, lowering his head. "It's all my goddamn fault."

"Dean, it's not your fault," Bobby crouched down next to the distraught teenager. "Your daddy was drunk, and he said some pretty terrible things. But it's not your fault, ya hear?"

"Bobby, my dad was right. I am selfish," Dean replied, looking up at the hunter. "I fucked up, and now I'm tearing this family apart."

"Dean, _none of this was your fault,_" Bobby insisted. "You're sick, and you've been doing your best to recover _for your family_. How is that selfish?"

Dean just shook his head. "Bobby, this is all my fault."

Bobby couldn't think of a thing to say, so he hugged the boy tight to his chest and let him cry.

ABCDEFG

After that, Bobby makes sure that Dean is always in his direct vision. It scared the shit out of him to think that Dean had been that close to cutting again, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

Around three, Bobby made Dean a snack. Dean pushed it away at first, but Bobby reminded him that he needed to eat to get well. He picked at the fruit salad until Jim, Caleb, Sam, and Andy came home.

"Hey Dean, look at what Pastor Jim got me!" Sam exclaimed, running into the kitchen carrying a box. Dean took a closer look-it was a complete set of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures.

"That's cool, Sammy," Dean said with difficulty.

"Where's Dad? I want to show him!" Sam exclaimed, glancing around the room. When he couldn't find him, he turned to Dean. "Dean, where's Dad?"

Dean bit his lip and looked at Bobby. Bobby knelt down, so he could look Sam in the eye. In a gentle voice, he said, "Sam, I sent your Daddy away."

"Bobby, why would you do that?" Sam asked, confused. "Dad needs to be here to help Dean get better."

"Bobby, don't lie to him," Dean interrupted. "Sam, I got into a fight with Dad. It's my fault he's not here. I was being disrespectful."

For a moment, Sam stood there, staring up at Dean. Then he said, "It's not your fault, Dean. Dad's supposed to forgive us no matter what we say. He's not supposed to run out on us when it gets hard. It's Dad's fault, not your's."

Then he walked up to Dean and gave him a hug. Bobby smiled at Dean, and Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Why don't you boys go watch a movie?" Pastor Jim suggested. "We'll get dinner ready."

"Okay," Sam replied, pulling Dean into the living room. "I get to pick!"

When Jim was sure that both boys were out of earshot, he turned to Bobby. "What happened?"

"John took Dean to McDonald's, and Dean threw up. So they come back here and Dean goes upstairs and shuts himself up in his bedroom. I brought him up a sandwich, talked to him a bit, and came back down. John had started drinking and was blaming himself, so I told him not to. Then he starts talkin' about leavin', and I started yellin' and he did too and next thing I knew Dean was at the top of the stairs. John told Dean they were leavin' and Dean said he wasn't ready and that John was being selfish, and John said that Dean was selfish for havin' an eatin' disorder-" Bobby said before he was interrupted by Caleb.

"That's bullshit!" Caleb shouted, infuriated. "What the hell is wrong with that asshole?"

"I know," Bobby's eyes darkened. "So I got pissed and told him to leave, and he did. And when I went up to check on Dean, he had a pocket knife and was ready to cut himself again."

"Oh my gosh!" Pastor Jim gasped. "We'll have to keep a closer eye on Dean."

"How the hell could John do this to his son?" Andy demanded. "His son's recovering from a serious eating disorder, and John has to go make things harder for him?"

"That's John Winchester for ya, supreme _idjit,_" Bobby growled. He looked out the window-he was almost expecting to see John pull into the driveway at the mention of his name. "When he gets back, I'm going to blow his ass full of buckshot."

ABCDEFG

That night, John Winchester didn't return.

Dean stood by the window until dinner, hoping to see the Impala pull into the driveway, but it never did. At seven, Bobby walked over to him and put his hands on his shoulders.

"Cm'on, Dean," Bobby said gently. "Let's have some dinner, okay?"

"I'm not hungry," Dean answered, standing there. "I just want to see my Dad."

"He'll come back, Dean," Bobby told the boy. "But you need to eat, okay? You can't make yourself sick over this."

Bobby led the teenager into the kitchen, where the rest of the family was sitting. Dean sank down into a chair next to Sammy and stared at his full plate.

He wasn't hungry at all; all he wanted to do was find his father and apologize. This was his fault; he was the reason that his father wasn't around.

"Dean, cm'on," Caleb said. "Take a couple of bites."

Dean looked down at his plate. There was chicken breast, a baked potato, and broccoli. He cut off a small piece of chicken and took a bite.

It tasted like sawdust, and Dean just wanted to spit it out. But he also wanted to eat, because his father didn't want him to be this small.

It took him nearly two hours, but he finished almost everything on his plate. The entire group sat around the table long after they were finished to support him. After he was through, he looked up.

"That's great, Dean," Caleb grinned at him.

"Nice," Pastor Jim smiled.

"Good job, Dean!" Andy exclaimed.

"I'm proud of ya, kiddo," Bobby said gruffly.

But Sam just sat there and looked up at him with such pride in his eyes that Dean couldn't help but smile. He knew that he could overcome this.

He just hoped that his father would be there to see it.


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much! **

Dean waited by the window for John to return for four entire days. He would hardly move; Bobby had to drag him away to eat his meals. On Thursday, he had a weigh-in; he hit 98 pounds, and his father wasn't there to see it. By Friday, Dean was growing more and more desperate to see his father. He had left at least ten voice mails, but John had never called him back.

At eleven o'clock on Saturday night, Bobby walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Ya hafta to go to bed, kiddo," he told the teenager. "Tomorrow's a big day for you."

"Ten more minutes," Dean pleaded, looking up at the hunter with sad eyes. "He'll come. He would want to be there for my birthday."

Bobby couldn't say no to the boy, so he allowed Dean to stay up for ten more minutes. With each passing second, he grew more tense. Bobby could tell that Dean was setting himself up for a big disappointment.

"Cm'on, Dean. It's time for bed," Bobby told him.

Dean nodded, careful to keep his head bowed so that Bobby couldn't see his tears. He was heartbroken, angry; more than anything, he was _disappointed. _He thought that his Dad would come back to him after a couple of beers so that he could apologize.

"Night, Dean," Bobby said gently; he knew that the boy was hurt, but he also knew that Dean wouldn't want him to comment on it.

"Night," Dean walked upstairs and into his room. Sammy had been in bed for a couple of hours now-Dean was grateful. Sam wouldn't see his weakness.

Dean changed into pajamas and laid down on his bed, crying softly. _How could Dad do this to me_? He had screwed up, but fathers weren't supposed to abandon their children.

Dean lied awake for another hour, hoping against hope that he would hear the Impala pull into the driveway. But of course he didn't, and he fell asleep crying on his birthday.

ABCDEFG

When he woke up in the morning, the sun was strong in the sky. He glanced at the clock on the wall-it was eleven thirty. He had no idea how he had managed to sleep so late.

He threw on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt before running downstairs. He was excited, but discouraged at the same time; it was his birthday, but his father wouldn't be there.

"Are you over there, Dean?" Sam's eager voice called out. "Don't come in here yet!"

Dean could smell the scent of chocolate cake in the air, and his mouth watered. For the first time in ages, he was truly hungry.

"Light the candle!" Dean heard Sam exclaim; he laughed. "Okay Dean, you can come in!"

Dean walked into the dining room and gasped. While he had been sleeping, they had been preparing a party for him.

Blue and red streamers covered the ceiling, and criss-crossed over the lights. Balloons were everywhere-red, blue, and silver. The table was full of dishes of his favorite foods-chicken tenders, pizza, burgers, french fries, and fettuccine Alfredo. At the head of the table, there was a cake; it was lopsided, and there was a crack down the middle, but it was perfect. It was frosted with blue, and someone had attempted to put red piping on the sides; it made Dean chuckle.

"Happy Birthday, Dean!" Sam shouted, running over to hug him.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean grinned down at his younger brother. "I bet all of this was your idea, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "I told Bobby your favorite foods, and he made them. Except for the pizza. Caleb had to go get that in his shitbox. Dean, what's a shitbox?"

Everybody in the room cracked up, and Sam stood there, perplexed. Dean could hardly catch his breath to answer his brother.

"A shitbox is a bad word for a car, Sammy," he answered, smiling. Sam was just so goddamn _cute_ at times. "You know, like a really bad clunker of a car?"

"Oh," Sam replied. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at Dean. "So Bobby's truck is a shitbox too?"

Once again, the group of hunters dissolved into peals of laughter, except for Bobby. He glared down at Sam. "No, my truck isn't a shitbox, Sam. It has character."

"Okay, enough with the cussing for a bit," Caleb chuckled. "Happy Birthday, Dean."

"Happy Birthday, kiddo," Bobby walked over to the teenager and hugged him. "Damn, I can't believe that your turnin' fourteen. I remember when you were five."

"I do as well," Jim smiled. "You sure were adorable. What happened?"

"I got even more good looking," Dean said smugly. Then, he became more serious. "Thank you guys for this. So much. You didn't have to do this."

"We know that we didn't have to, but we wanted to," Caleb told him. "Now blow out the candles so that we can dig in. I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."

Dean knew it was stupid, but he made a wish. He wished that his father would come walking through the door, so that they could celebrate his birthday as a family. He took a deep breath and blew out the candles.

"Nice," Caleb commented, before taking a heaping helping of fettuccine. He twirled it around his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. "Mhm, this is good."

The next few hours were spent eating and talking. Dean managed to have a bit of everything-he ate two entire plates of food, plus a small piece of cake. After he was finished, he gasped. _He had just eaten upwards of a thousand calories! _He was disgusting; it was no wonder that his father didn't want to be around him..

Bobby must have noticed the look on his face, because he immediately commented.

"Dean, don't worry about calories," he whispered in the boy's ear. "Ya aren't fat. You don't need to worry about gettin' fat. Ya just need to keep working on gettin' healthy, okay?"

Dean nodded. Bobby always seemed to know what he was thinking or feeling. He was like another father.

"Well, I have a question for Dean and Sam," Bobby announced. He turned to Dean. "I know ya are almost ready to get out of here, and I was wonderin' if you would like to come back home with me."

Dean almost choked on his pizza, and Caleb had to smack him on the back.

"_What_?" Dean asked, incredulous. Bobby's face fell.

"I get it if ya don't want to," he sounded dejected. "But I figured that I'd offer, because you boys are family."

"I wanna!" Sam answered, looking excited. He looked over at Dean. "How about you?"

"Of _course_ I want to," Dean replied, grinning. But then a thought crossed his mind, and his face fell. "But what if Dad comes back?"

"I'll send him over to Bobby's," Pastor Jim answered. "You should do it, Dean. You'll have a stable home, you'll go to your old school-"

"Alright," Dean agreed. "I'm sold. When would we be leaving?"

"Whenever you're ready," Bobby answered the boy. "You two just tell me, ya hear?"

Dean nodded and smiled. Maybe his father didn't want to be there for him, but Bobby did. He did have a family.


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much! **

"Dean! Hurry up, I'm hungry!" Sam shouted up the stairs. "You take forever!"

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean yelled back. He was standing in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, inspecting his outfit. That night would be there last night at Jim's, and Dean had suggested going out to a restaurant for their last dinner together. He thought he was ready-even though he was really nervous-and that it would be a good way to show everybody that he was really working at his recovery.

He just couldn't find anything to wear.

His best dress pants were still at least two sizes too large on him, and he could practically swim in his only dress shirt. He had spent the better part of an hour scouring his closet, looking for a suitable outfit, but nothing seemed to work on his body.

"Deuce? Are you almost ready?" Caleb walked into the room-he was dressed in a pair of black dress paints, a blue button down shirt, and a pair of leather loafers. "Everyone's in the cars, ready to go."

"Sorry," Dean apologized, reaching into his closet once more. He pulled out another pair of dress pants and held them up to his waist, but they were too big. "Damn it!"

"Can't find anything to wear?" Caleb asked sympathetically, walking towards Dean's closet to help. Dean shook his head.

"Everything I put on is either too loose or makes me look huge," Dean answered, exasperated. "I'm getting huge."

Caleb stopped in his tracks. He looked at Dean-Dean, who was still ninety nine pounds. Dean, who wore a 20 in jeans and an extra small in shirts. If Dean still believed that he was fat, Caleb was worried.

"Dean, sit down for a minute," Caleb sat down on the bed, and Dean walked over and sat down by him. "Dean, what makes you think you're fat?"  
>"It's true," Dean answered, disgusted with himself. "Why else would my father hate me so much? He's told me I eat too much, and..."<p>

Dean let his sentence trail off. He realized that he'd said too much, and that he'd basically sold out his father. It was no wonder that he didn't want to be around him.

"And what, Dean?" Caleb asked softly. "Did he call you fat?"

Dean nodded silently as tears flowed down his face. "He wouldn't lie to me, you know?"

Caleb's heart broke for Dean. He considered the boy a brother, and it killed him to see him in pain. Caleb waited until Dean looked up again to answer. "Dean, was your father drunk that night?"

Dean nodded.

"Dean, your Dad was wrong," Caleb told him. "You know, you've always been really skinny. But when you came here, you looked like a skeleton."

"You're lying," Dean accused. "I'm chubby."

"Dean!" Caleb barked, exasperated. Then he remembered the picture, and an idea formed in his brain. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't do anything."

Caleb went downstairs and into the kitchen. Jim kept all of the photo albums in one of the cabinets. Caleb searched through them for a minute and then found the one he was looking for.

It had become tradition that whenever Sam and Dean came over, they would take a picture. Well, it usually ended up being dozens of pictures; they would go to museums and theme parks, and Jim would spend the entire time chasing the boys around with a camera. When Dean was healthy, he would just laugh it off; this time, he refused to be in any pictures. Jim had snapped one when he wasn't looking. Caleb did his best not to look at it, because it made him cringe.

He walked back into Dean's room and sat down next to him. "Take a look at this."

Dean took the photo out of Caleb's hands and looked down at it. In the picture, he wasn't looking at the camera; he was talking to Sam, his head turned at an angle, which allowed him to really _look _at himself.

There were dark bags under his eyes, and his cheeks were puffy and swollen-probably from throwing up all of the time. One of the sleeves on his long-sleeved shirt had rolled up, showing his toothpick of an arm; Dean could see the thin red lines that were his cuts. His skin was translucent, and his hair was dull; he didn't just look unhealthy-he looked like he was about five minutes from being dead.

"See what I mean?" Caleb asked, and Dean nodded. "You're just starting to look human again, Dean."

Tears fell down his face, but they were tears of joy. He was _lucky. _He was lucky that he was alive after all that he'd done to himself. He was lucky that he had friends that cared about him so much. He was lucky that he hadn't irrevocably shattered any relationships as a result of his problems.

Well, except maybe the relationship with his father.

"I can tell that you're thinking about him," Caleb commented. "He'll come back around, after he realizes that he's being an idiot. Give him a few days."

"Thanks, Caleb," Dean said, his voice soft. Caleb always came through for him.

"No problem, Deuce," Caleb replied, smiling. "Now let's find you something to wear, okay?"

Caleb reached into the closet and pulled out a pair of khaki pants. Jim had bought them for Sam, but they were a bit too big on the boy. "Try these."

Dean pulled off his jeans and slid on the khaki pants. They fit perfectly. Caleb pulled out a long-sleeved blue pinstriped shirt and tossed it to the teenager, who put it on.

"There you go. If either one of us were gay, I'd be nuts about you," Caleb joked.

"Who wouldn't?" Dean smirked. "We oughtta get out there, they've been waiting forever."

The two friends walked outside side-by-side to confront whatever the night would hold.

ABCDEFG

When the family arrived at the restaurant, they were seated at a long table right in the center. Dean was beginning to get a bit anxious-eating in front of his family he could handle, but in the center of a crowded restaurant on a Friday night?

The waitress handed them their menus, and the table fell silent. Dean stared at the trifold piece of paper, looking at all of the options. How could anybody make these choices? Everything had at least 500 calories-that was more than he used to eat a day. How the hell was he supposed to do this?

In what felt like a few seconds, the waitress was back to take their orders. Everybody at the table was ready except for Dean. He felt their eyes on him, waiting for him to make a decision.

"Can I have a few minutes, please?" he requested as a light sheen of sweat began to cover his face.

"Sure, I'll come back in a few minutes," the woman turned on her heels and walked back to the kitchen.

Dean looked down at the menu and began to panic. How had he thought that he was ready for this? He was about to began hyperventilating when Bobby stepped in.

"Dean, ya don't have to do this," the hunter assured him. "There's no pressure."

But there _was. _If not from them, from himself. He wanted to prove to himself that he was recovering, that he could do this. He took a deep breath, calmed himself, and looked back down. He thought carefully, and then came to a decision.

"I'm going to get a burger," Dean announced, smiling because he knew that he had made the right choice.

The entire table broke out into grins. Dean had always loved his meat, but they hadn't gotten a chance to see that since he had come to Pastor Jim's.

"But there's one condition," Dean warned. The smiles on the faces of the group faded as they waited for him to speak.

"Can we get pie after?"

**We're coming to the final four chapters, probably less! **


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much! **

The next morning, the Winchesters and Bobby awoke early; they wanted to get a head start. By seven in the morning, Dean and Bobby were all packed up and ready to hit the road after breakfast. The TV was in the bed of Bobby's truck, covered by a tarp; Jim had insisted that they bring it with them. Dean's game boy had fresh batteries in it, and he had put a few snacks in the back seat in case Sam got hungry.

Of course, Sam wasn't even halfway done packing, because he couldn't find any of his stuff. Less than a quarter of his clothes were actually in the closet or the bureau, where they belonged-they covered the entire floor.

"Dean, have you seen my good jeans?" Sam asked, digging through a mountain of clothes. "I can't find them."

"Sammy, you couldn't find anything in this mess," Dean said, walking over to the nearest pile of clothes. He dug through them until he found the pants that Sam was so fond of and tossed them to the boy. "Why don't you just shove all of this into your backpack? We'll go through it at Bobby's."

"Because I don't wanna," Sam shrugged as they walked down the stairs, towards the dining room. They were going to have one last meal together before hitting the road. "And Pastor Jim says I can leave whatever I want here, right?"

"I don't think he meant your dirty laundry, Sammy," Dean answered, shaking his head and trying not to laugh. Sam truly did have a mind of his own.

"It's not dirty! I just didn't feel like hanging it up!" Sam protested.

"It's too early for all this screamin'!" Bobby exclaimed, taking a sip of his coffee. "If ya two _idjits _are like this durin' the drive, I'm goin' to have to blow ya full of buckshot!"

"Yup, Bobby," Dean replied, sitting down and reaching for the plate of pancakes. The entire family was already gathered around the table, chatting and eating. Dean slid two pancakes on his plate with no difficulty, and Bobby beamed with pride. Dean had come so far in just a few months.

"So, are you excited to start school again, my boy?" Pastor Jim asked Dean as he began to eat.

"Yeah," Dean answered, even though he really wasn't. He knew that the other kids would heckle him and make comments about his low body weight. After hitting a hundred, he had began to plateau; it was getting harder and harder to gain anything. He didn't stress about it, though-he knew that if he forced himself to gain weight, it could end up being just as bad as when he forced himself to lose weight. "But I don't think it'll be long before Dad comes to pick me up for the hunt."

The table went so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. Dean blushed-why did _he _always seem to cause these situations?

"My Dad's coming back for me," Dean announced confidently. John had been gone a bit over a week at that point, and Dean knew that he was just doing what was best for the family. Maybe he was earning money, or maybe he was hunting something. But John wouldn't leave them alone forever; he just wouldn't. "It'll be any day, now."

"Dean..." Bobby began, but Dean interrupted.

"I don't want to talk," Dean said, biting into his hash browns. "Caleb, did you make these? They're great."

"Thanks, Deuce," Caleb replied.

The rest of the meal was spent discussing their favorite memories-the time that Dean had pulled the ladder away from the roof when Caleb was re-shingling it; the time that five-year-old Sam had chased Dean around the house with a bottle full of holy water screaming 'christo' at the top of his lungs, and the time that Bobby had accidentally thrown a red shirt in with Jim's white clerical robe, turning it pink.

It ended too soon, and they had to leave.

First, they carried their bags out to Bobby's truck and left them on the floor of the cab. Then they walked back inside and said their goodbyes.

Dean got a hug from Pastor Jim. A smile and a handshake from Andy. But what truly made it hard for him was saying goodbye to Caleb.

"Well, I guess I won't be seeing you for a bit, Deuce," Caleb tried to keep his tone light and cheery, but he failed. Miserably. He was going to miss spending time with Dean and having the kid underfoot. "You take care of yourself, okay?"

Dean nodded, and Caleb pulled the boy into a hug. Dean was his brother, one of the few people he honestly was close with. He would miss him.

"I'll see you around, Deuce," Caleb promised. And then, more quietly, "No matter what happens, you **can't** do that to yourself again, okay?"

Dean nodded, and Caleb let go of him.

"Bye, guys," he said, choking back tears. "It's been real."

With that, he walked out to Bobby's truck and got ready to go back to where it had all started.

ABCDEFG

When they arrived at the Singer house, Sam had hopped out of the truck's cab and up to the front door. He pulled the spare key out from under the mat and ran into the house.

Dean, however, sat in the truck, staring at the world around him. God, Bobby's house was beautiful. Well, not so much the house, but the land-it was amazing.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, Dean?" Bobby asked, cutting the engine.

"Nothing, it's just-you have this beautiful home," Dean explained. "I guess I never noticed it before."

"Well, it's your home too now," Bobby smiled. "C'mon in, I'll make you guys some dinner."

Dean followed Bobby into the overly large house-he had never felt more at home in his entire life.

ABCDEFG

Two weeks after that, Dean was back in school. His schedule was exactly the same as it had been back in November, which meant that he had Mr. Greene's honors English.

The first day that he had walked into that school, it had felt like a homecoming. The majority of the other students had walked up to him and told him that he looked a lot better-the only thing that really bothered him was the fact that he was expected to meet with the school counselor twice a week. He'd brought it up with Bobby, but found that the hunter had no sympathy.

"It'll be good for you, Dean," he'd insisted, so Dean was stuck talking about his feelings like some twelve-year-old girl for an hour every Tuesday and Thursday.

On the bright side, most of his teachers had gone back to treating him normally; Mr. Greene, however, insisted on having a heart to heart with him.

It had occurred one Friday afternoon, when he stayed late to finish up an essay that he had missed while he was recovering in the hospital. Mr. Greene had sat on the desk in front of him, similarly to how he had all those months ago.

"Dean, I heard about what happened," the teacher had confronted him. "What _really _happened."

"Let me guess, you want to know why I didn't open up to you and cry my eyes out," Dean said irritably. "It doesn't work that way in real life, sorry."

"Well, you probably should've, because I knew exactly what you were going through," Mr. Greene told him. "I used to be bulimic."

Dean looked up, surprised. "Really?"

"Yup," the teacher answered. "But before I began, I was actually fat. When I started throwing up, I lost 60 pounds and had to be hospitalized. I remember how it felt. It sucked. And I wanted to apologize for not noticing."

"It's not your fault," Dean replied. "I made the decision. I got myself into it."

"Pretty sure no one gets themselves into an eating disorder or self injury," Mr. Greene disagreed. "So I just wanted you to know that if you ever do need anything, you can tell me, okay?"

Dean had nodded, and that had been it.

Over the next few months, Dean gained a few more pounds-by May, he was up to 110, and he was _happy. _Sure, he hadn't heard from his father, but he was alright. Bobby was helping him through his problems, the therapy was working, and he felt healthy and confident. He was being a kid again.

So of course, John Winchester had to walk in and fuck it up.


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much! **

It was the morning of Sammy's tenth birthday, so they were all awake early. Bobby and Dean had insisted on throwing the boy a huge birthday party, one that he would always remember. They had rented inflatables and had cleared the backyard so that the kids would have somewhere to play, and had made a huge cake. Bobby had felt a little guilty because they hadn't done the same thing for Dean, but Dean had shrugged off his concerns.

"Sammy deserves this," Dean had said. "He's never had a real birthday."

So Bobby had resolved to throw Dean a big blow-out next year, and allowed the boy to invite a couple of his friends over for the day.

It had been about four months since they had heard from John. For the first few weeks, Dean would stand by the window, hoping that he would return; eventually, he gave up hope and began to enjoy his new life.

That morning, they were making chocolate chip pancakes when there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Bobby announced, walking over to the door. He glanced through the peephole and then cursed. "Shit!"

"Bobby? What's wrong?" Dean asked, concerned. He walked into the living room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "Who's at the door?"

"Dean..." All the color drained out of Bobby's face. "It's your father."

ABCDEFG

The kind, welcoming expression on Dean's face turned cold and uncaring. He simply stared at the door, fury in his eyes, as Bobby unlocked it and let the younger hunter in.

John walked right into the house, and smiled shyly at his eldest. He was bruised and battered after coming off the last hunt, but he was alive. When that demon had gotten a hold of him, he was certain that he was done for. He had realized how badly he had screwed up by leaving his sons, and he had wished for an opportunity to make it right.

By some miracle, he had been able to get to his holy water and splash the demon with it. That gave him the chance to begin an exorcism, and an hour later John was on the way to see his boys.

"Hey, Dean," John greeted his son. He gave the boy a once-over, and was surprised to see that Dean looked _healthy._ He was lean, muscular, but he wasn't too skinny; the color had returned to his face, and his clothes no longer hung off of his frame. But he lookedlivid.

"What do you want, Dad?" he asked coldly, glaring at the man.

John wasn't easily frightened, but he took a step back. There was such _hate _in his son's eyes that it was hard to comprehend. Eventually, he regained his composure and looked into his son's eyes.

"I wanted to apologize, son, for what I've done to you," he said sincerely. "I was wrong, and I realize that this was all my fault."

John didn't really expect immediate forgiveness, but he didn't expect what happened next.

"I don't care," Dean replied cooly-the words hit John like a slap in the face. "You know how long I waited for you to come back? You know how much you fucking hurt me? If Bobby and Sam hadn't been here to help pick up the pieces, I could've ended up killing myself."

"I'm sorry, Dean," John knew that he was being repetitive, but he really didn't know what else to say. He had screwed up, and now he was forced to take his consequences. "I really screwed up."

"Yeah, you did," Dean agreed. "But it's fine, _John._"

When Dean said his name, it felt like someone had taken a knife and stabbed him through the heart. It wasn't only the lack of the word _Dad, _but the way he said _John;_ there was such contempt in his voice that it nearly forced him back.

"Dean, I'm still your Dad," John reasoned with the teenager. "I know I screwed up, but-"

"You really don't get it, do you?" Dean interrupted, furious. "When you left, _I wanted to die._"

John couldn't think of anything to say, so he remained silent.

"If you were my _Dad, _you would have stuck by me," Dean finished. "You're just a father. Nothing more."

Dean threw the dishtowel down and walked out of the room. He stomped up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door shut.

"That went well," Bobby quipped dryly. "What the hell do you want, John?"

"I want to fix things with my sons," John answered. "I really screwed up."

"No shit, Johnny!" Bobby hissed. "You left your sons alone for months, without so much as a phone call. You missed Dean's birthday, Dean's first day back at school, the first time he ate at a restaurant after everything happened, and now you want to come back into his life? It's no wonder he doesn't want to be around you!"

"I KNOW!" John yelled. And then, more softly, he asked, "What am I supposed to do, Bobby? How the hell can I fix this mess?"

Bobby was tempted to tell him that he wasn't sure, that John had possibly screwed up his relationship with his sons forever. But he could tell that the man truly regretted his actions, and he loved his sons. So instead, he answered,

"Let me see what I can do."

ABCDEFG

Dean was tossing his tennis ball against the wall when Bobby walked in.

"Can we talk?" he asked, catching the ball. "Preferably before ya put a dent in my wall?"

Dean nodded and sat up. "I'm not forgiving him, Bobby."

"I didn't say ya had to, Dean," Bobby replied. "I just wanted to ask you if it would be alright if he stayed for Sam's birthday party."

Dean was taken aback-John Winchester, supreme ass of the universe, was going to stay and watch a bunch of rugrats hop around on a moonbounce?

"I'm fine with it, as long as he doesn't screw up Sammy's party," he answered. "Did he even get the kid a present?"

"Yeah, I think he got him a new baseball glove," Bobby replied. Dean's face fell-so John remembered Sam's birthday, but didn't care about his?

"Dean, I know what you're thinking," Bobby warned, staring at the teenager. "I know it doesn't seem fair. It's not. But your Daddy-"

"My father," Dean corrected.

"Your _father _knows he screwed up," Bobby finished. "Try to give him a chance, okay? He knows he screwed up, and he's tryin' to fix it."

"He could _never _fix it, Bobby," Dean growled. "He abandoned me, but even worse, he abandoned _Sam. _And I can never forgive him for that."

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I liked writing it!**


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much! **

"I told ya, _ya don't have to,_" Bobby repeated, his patience with this situation wearing thin. He could understand where Dean was coming from-John had been a pretty piss-poor excuse for a father lately-but he also had to go worry about Sam's party. "But Sam's party starts soon, and I'm pretty sure that he wants you there."

"Yeah," Dean nodded and got off of the bed. He followed Bobby downstairs and into the kitchen, where John was sitting. He and Sammy were eating pancakes together, like he had never left.

"Dean! Dad got me this awesome baseball glove!" Sam held up a black baseball glove, and John smiled at his youngest.

"That's cool, Sammy," Dean replied, reaching for a couple of pancakes. "We'll have to play later."

"I got you something too, Dean," John announced, reaching under the table. He pulled out a small box and handed it to Dean. "Your mother gave one to me when we started going out, and she bought you one when you were born. Sam has one waiting for him, too."

Dean unwrapped the small parcel-it was a jewelery case, covered in a soft velvet. He opened it.

Inside, there laid a golden pocket watch. It was open, so Dean could see that it had a sparkling white face with silver tick marks, and it looked valuable. Dean was afraid to touch it.

"It's engraved," John stated. "Pick it up and look."

Gently, Dean picked the watch up. He flipped it over in his hands so that the back of the face was towards him. It read, _time is eternal as is my love for you_ in a loopy script, and underneath that it said, _With all my love, Mom. _

Dean looked up at his father and raised an eyebrow. "Mom got these?"

"I swear," John promised. "I was supposed to give it to you when you turned eighteen, but I thought you were old enough."

Dean turned the pocket watch in his hand. He could imagine his mother standing over the case, studying each choice and carefully selecting one. He could see her holding it in her hands, smiling down at it.

It reminded him of her.

"Thanks, Dad" he said softly. He knew that his father was trying, but he was still a bit angry. "But this doesn't change anything."

"I know," John replied solemnly. "But let me try to make it up to you, son. Please?"

Dean didn't know how to answer. His father had hurt him, but he was trying. Luckily, he didn't have to decide, because the doorbell rang at that exact moment.

"They're here!" Sam shouted, rushing over to the door. He threw it open and let about eight ten-year-olds into the house. "You guys are early, but that's okay. We'll wait for the other guys!"

Dean took the opportunity to sneak outside. He sat in the cab of Bobby's truck with the door open, thinking. He was trying to make sense of all the nonsense that had gone on in the past two hours. He was so deep in thought that he didn't hear when Jake and Amy showed up, carrying presents.

Jake and Amy had been the first two people to talk to him when he returned to school, and they had quickly hit it off. Jake was tall-six feet-with clearly defined muscles and messy brown hair. He looked like he'd be a jackass, but he was a really good guy at heart.

Amy was _hot. _There was no other word for it. She had a perfect hourglass figure, straight blond hair, and green eyes. Her skin was all cream-and-peaches, except for a long, angry red scar that snaked down the left side of her face. Her mother had been a drug addict and had failed to pay her dealer-the man had kidnapped Amy, tortured her for a day, and left her with a reminder.

"Hey Dean, what's going on?" Amy asked, walking up to him. She'd seen that lost and helpless look in Dean's eyes before; every time she looked in the mirror. "You alright?"

"Yeah, it's just..." Dean began, taking a deep breath. "My dad's back."

"Oh, Dean," She said sympathetically. "I know where you're coming from."

"That's got to be rough, man," Jake agreed. "How do you feel about it?"

"It pisses me off! The guy walked out on me and he expects me to forgive him," Dean seethed. "I don't know if I can."

"You've got to try, Dean," Amy reasoned with the boy. "He's your dad."

"Could you forgive your mother for what she did to you?" Dean snapped, stressed. As soon as he said it, he regretted it. "Shit, I'm sorry Amy. I didn't mean..."

"Yeah, I could-and I have," Amy answered. "I visited her in prison, and she apologized to me. I realized that she was my mother, and I needed her; it was hard, but I managed."

"Then you're a better person than I am," Dean replied. "I don't know if I can."

"Well, you don't have to decide right now," Jake interrupted. "Now can we go give these presents to Sam and then do something? I swear, Dean, for a guy who hates chick-flick moments you get into a lot of them."

Dean laughed. "Let's go, then. The inflatables are all set up-we have a water slide, too."

They walked in the house, deposited the presents on the table, and went out to the back yard. At least a dozen inflatables were set up-there was a jousting ring, an obstacle course, a slide, a bungee run, a water slide, human bowling, a Jacob's ladder, sumo suits, and a moon bounce. Parents and staff from the rental company roamed around, giving the kids water bottles and making sure that everyone was being safe. 

It was the best party ever.

They went from ride to ride, enjoying everything about the day. Until around four. Then, everything fell apart.

Dean had been eating cake when Sam came up to him.

"Dean, will you do the obstacle course with me?" he asked, excited. "I bet I can beat you!"

"No way is that happening, little brother," Dean grinned. He turned to his friends. "Mind if I leave you guys alone for a bit?"

"Not at all, go show the pipsqueak who's boss," Jake said solemnly, but then he ruffled Sam's hair.

The two brothers raced over to the obstacle course; there was no one else in line, so they were able to start right away.

"I'm gonna kick your ass, bitch," Dean quipped as they reached the climbing wall.

"Nuh-uh, jerk," Sam disagreed. "I'm totally going to beat-AHHHHH!"

His leg had had gotten caught in an awkward position in one of the holes, and his ankle was twisted. He attempted to pull it out, and succeeded-but ended up falling the ten feet over the side!

"SAMMY!" Dean shrieked, before leaping over the side himself.

**Tell me what you think!**


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much! **

Dean hit the ground running. He rushed over to Sammy's side, praying that his baby brother would be okay. _ How could he let this happen?_

By some miracle, Sam was conscious. He was crying-not just crying, but sobbing in pain. His right foot was sticking out at an odd angle, and his head had hit the ground hard. Some of the other parents were dialing 911 on their phones, and Sam's friends were crying. But Dean didn't see any of that; all he saw were his father and Sam. John kneeled next to his youngest, murmuring soothing words to him.

"It's alright, kiddo," John promised. "You just rest, okay? Try not to move."

"Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, hitting his knees by his brother. "I'm so sorry."

"Dean, my-head-hurts!" Sam bawled. "My ankle too!"

Dean reached out for his brother, to wrap him in a hug, but John pushed his arms away.

"Don't move him, he might have a neck injury," John explained. "The ambulance is on the way, Sammy."

Bobby herded the other kids back into the house as the EMTs arrived. They rushed over to Sam, secured his neck in a brace, and moved him onto the stretcher. John and Dean followed, but the EMTs stopped them.

"Only one ride along," they explained, and Sam called out.

"Dean," he cried, and Dean looked at John.

"Go, your brother needs you," John pushed Dean gently forward. "I'll follow you there in the Impala."

Dean hopped into the ambulance and reached for Sam's hand. Sam had saved him, and now Dean would save Sam.

ABCDEFG

John arrived at the hospital seconds after the ambulance did. He watched as his youngest son was wheeled in on a gurney, no longer crying. Dean was holding onto his left hand, and John could see his eldest grimace in pain-Sam must've been holding on for all he was worth.

He followed them inside, just in time to see them push Sam through the double doors. Dean was crying as they took him away.

"Dean, it's going to be okay," John assured his eldest. He wanted to put a hand on Dean's shoulder, but he wasn't sure if that would be okay. So instead, he waited for Dean's reaction.

"It's my fault, Dad," Dean said, as the tears cascaded down his face. "I should've caught him."

"How were you supposed to catch him when you were up there?" John reminded him gently. "Dean, not everything is your fault."

"Sammy's my responsibility," Dean insisted. "I should've got to him."

He turned to his father, and for the first time in months, hugged him. It felt so familiar, but so odd-he hadn't been this close to his Dad in forever. John hugged his son back, tears in his own eyes. He had done this to Dean. All of it-all of his issues-were a result of the weight John put on his son's shoulders.

"We're going to fix this, Dean," John promised. "I'm going to be better for you, okay?"

Dean couldn't answer, so he just nodded into John's shirt. His Dad was back, and Dean now realized how much he needed him.

ABCDEFG

Two hours went by like a millennium. Dean flipped through copies of _Time _that were older than he was, paced through the waiting room, and was almost ready to throttle the doctor when he came out to fetch them.

"I'm sorry about the wait," the man apologized. "We've had a back-up all day."

"It's fine," John replied. "Doc, how's Sammy?"

"Sam fractured his right ankle and got a nasty concussion, but other than that he's doing fine," he answered, looking down at the chart. "I'd like to hold him overnight for observation, but he can leave tomorrow morning."

"Alright, thank you," John said. "Can we go see Sammy now?"

"Of course, he's in room 128," he answered, smiling at Dean. "He's been asking for you for a while."

Dean shot off like a rocket towards his little brother's room. When he walked in, he immediately gasped.

Sam's leg was encased in a camouflage cast, and there was a large purple bump on his forehead. Other than that, he seemed okay.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean greeted his little brother. "How ya feeling?"

"High," Sam answered honestly. "They gave me so much morphine...I'm tired, D."

"Rest, Sammy," Dean told his brother. "We'll be right here."

With that, Sam fell asleep, feeling safe and loved.

ABCDEFG

About an hour later, when John was sure that Sam was going to be out for awhile, he stood up and stretched.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starved," he told Dean. "You want to come get something to eat with me?"

Dean looked over at Sam, who was resting peacefully, torn. He didn't want to risk his brother waking up alone, but he _did _need to talk to his father.

"Dean, he'll be fine," John promised. "We'll be back in ten."

"Alright," Dean agreed. He followed John down to the cafeteria, and over to the line.

"I screwed up," John began as they moved through the line. "I shouldn't have suggested leaving, and I shouldn't have left you and Sam. For that, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Dad," Dean answered, reaching for a burger. "We all screw up."

"Yeah, but that was taking it to a new level," John replied. "So I was thinking-what if we just started over? We can stay at Bobby's house for a while, work on things."

Dean stood there, dumbstruck. They were going to _stay ?_He was going to go to the same school, spend the summer in one area? It was a totally new thing for the Winchesters.

Dean loved it.

"Yeah, Dad," Dean nodded. A smile slowly spread over his face. "That would be great."

**The next chapter will be the last. Thank you guys for sticking with me until the end!**


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

**I absolutely can't believe the awesome reception to this story! Thank you guys, so much! **

The next morning, Sam was released from the hospital.

Dean stays by his side, making sure not to take his eyes off of his brother for more than a few moments-knowing Sam, he'd just get himself hurt again. When his father leaves the room to sign the discharge papers, Sam turns to Dean.

"Are you ever going to stop staring at me?" Sam demanded as he pulled on a new shirt.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean looked over to the wall. "I shouldn't have let this happen."

"Dean, you didn't let this happen," Sam told his older brother. "You need to realize that we're going to get ourselves into trouble, but it isn't all your fault. Okay?"

"Sammy, I'm supposed to-" Dean began, but Sam cut him off.

"Dean, you do protect me," Sam cut in. "But you have to look out for yourself. You're going to end up hurting yourself again if you don't start realizing how much we need you."

"You mean it?" Dean asked, skeptical.

"Of course I mean it, Dean," Sam answered. "You're my big brother, and we need you."

Sam hugged his brother, and in that moment Dean realized exactly how much he was worth. His family needed him, and he needed to be there for them. He would do whatever he could to help them.

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The rest of the summer passed in a lazy haze. Dean would spend some time with Sam, go to the beach with Jake and Amy, and just enjoy life. He was putting on weight, but _good _weight-he ate right and worked out, until he was a solid brick wall with bulging biceps and a six pack.

In July, Pastor Jim and Caleb came down to visit. Caleb was beyond shocked when he saw Dean-he was still expecting to see the same small, skinny boy that had left. But Dean had changed, and it was an amazing turn around.

On July fourth, the entire family decided to go see the fireworks. The display was about halfway over before John realized that his son was no where to be found. He looked around, and saw Dean leaning up against the side of a building, passionately kissing Amy.

John was tempted to go over there and separate the two lovebirds, but he didn't. He was so relieved to see Dean acting like a normal teenager that he was unable to even pretend to be angry with his son. He kept an eye on the teenagers, making sure that nothing _else_ happened until Dean came back towards them, holding Amy's hand.

"You got yourself a good girlfriend there, Ace," John whispered in his ear.

Dean kissed Amy on the cheek and wrapped her in an embrace.

"The best," Dean agreed.

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By the time Dean started his sophomore year in September, John was growing restless. He didn't want to do the suburban thing, but he also didn't want to set Dean back. He eventually decided that Dean would finish the year in Sioux Falls, and then they would hit the road.

He just needed to break the news to his kids.

For Dean's birthday in January, Bobby rented out a hall and hired a DJ. Dean invited almost his entire class, but Bobby didn't mind. He was glad to see the teenager being himself again.

Caleb made a surprise appearance at Dean's party, and was more than pleasantly surprised. Dean was still doing phenomenally well, and seemed to be acting like a typical teen again.

"Deuce just keeps getting better and better," Caleb commented to John. "You made the right choice by staying here."

"I think so too," John replied, biting down on his tongue. "But we can't stay forever."

"When are you planning on leaving?" Caleb asked.

"End of June," John answered. "I just...I need to be hunting again, and now that Dean's better-"

"Dean's not better," Caleb interrupted. "He has an eating disorder. Just because the symptoms are treated doesn't mean they can't come back."

"Well, I think he's ready," John insisted. "I'll keep an eye on him, and he'll be fine."

"John, he has a life here," Caleb reminded him. "He has a girlfriend, friends, school-"

"You think I don't know that?" John growled, looking over at his eldest. Dean was dancing with Amy, to some teeny-bopper song that John had never heard in his life. "But this isn't our life. Dean knows that."

"_It could be,_" Caleb hissed. "He could stay here with Bobby, graduate, go to college-_he could get out. _Sam too."

"I know he could get out," John stated. "But who would protect him? Who would teach him how to shoot a rifle, make sure he salted the windows?"

"Bobby isn't completely helpless, John," Caleb answered. "You know that. He's just as much a hunter as you are. You know what I think?"

"What?" John asked, furious. "What do you think, Reeves?"

"I think this is you being selfish," Caleb answered, looking the hunter straight in the eye. "You know that Dean's just as comfortable with Bobby as he is with you-hell, probably more-and you're afraid that he'll end up wanting to stay."

"Yup, you hit the nail on the head, Caleb," John responded angrily. "I'm so fucking selfish that I would risk my son's health for my feelings. You don't know shit, kid."

With that, John stalked off to find Sam.

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As the end of the school year grew closer and closer, Dean grew more and more afraid. He knew that his father wouldn't want to stay at Bobby's forever, and he would end up leaving. That was why he hated getting close to people at school-he always ended up leaving at some time or another.

On the last day of school, he took Amy aside. He walked her over to the shade of a tree and kissed her, long and hard. He wanted to remember the way she tasted, the way she felt, her body pressed against his. She was the first steady girlfriend he had, and it honestly hurt him to break things off with her.

But he knew that he had to for his family.

"Amy, I've got something I need to say to you," he began seriously. He stared in her eyes, memorized all of the contours and characteristics on her face that made her Amy.

"Yeah, babe?" she prompted, kissing him again. Dean gently rebuffed her. _God, this hurts_, he thought.

"What's up?" She asked, perplexed. Dean had _never _denied her a kiss, not in nearly a year of being together. "Is something wrong?"

Dean couldn't stand to see her so upset, and he didn't want to do it. He nearly chickened out, but he knew that it was necessary.

"Amy, we need to break up," he told her, closing his eyes. _You will not cry. You will not cry. _

"Break...up?" Amy questioned, hurt. What had she done? Why didn't Dean love her anymore? "Why? What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Dean replied, reaching for her hand-she pulled it back as tears clouded her vision. Dean ignored the twinge in his chest and did his best to stay calm. "It's not you, it's me."

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before," Amy guffawed through tears. "Is it my scar? Or my attitude? What?"

"It's _not you_," Dean repeated. "Amy, you're perfect. You always have been. You need a guy who's as good as you, and I'm not that guy. I'm...broken."

"Dean, you're perfect for _me_," Amy cried. She threw herself at Dean, breathing in his scent. "Don't leave me. Please."

"I'm so sorry," Dean replied, letting the tears spill over. "I have to."

He planted one last kiss on her forehead. "You're beautiful, Amy. You're amazing, and someday you're going to meet a great guy and settle down. But I'm not that guy."

With that, he extracted himself from her arms and walked away, tears pouring down his face.

ABCDEFG

When Dean arrived back at the house, Sam assaulted him with requests.

"Can you come help me finish the tree house, Dean?" Sam asked eagerly. "We only have to do the roof."

"I really don't feel like it, Sammy," Dean declined. "Maybe tomorrow."

"But Dean, I really want to finish it up," Sam pleaded. "Please?"

Dean really didn't feel like doing it, but he couldn't say no to Sam when he pulled the puppy eyes. So he just nodded and followed him out.

They spent a couple of hours working on the tree house before John walked out. It was time to tell them.

"Dean, Sam...we're going to roll out in a few days," John told them. "Start packing up."

Dean had been expecting this, so he didn't say anything. Sam, however, had a completely different reaction.

"But Dad, I don't want to go!" Sam shouted. "Jake invited me to his party next week!"

"Samuel, don't start," John warned. "I'm in no mood."

"But Dad..." Sam whined.

"_Samuel,_" John replied, his tone dangerous. "Don't fight with me."

Sam began to cry and climbed down the ladder. He ran into the house and slammed the door behind him.

"You have any problems?" John asked his eldest.

"No, sir," Dean answered, his mouth a thin line.

"Good," John grunted. "We leave Monday."

He walked inside, leaving Dean alone with a toolbox full of sharp tools.

Dean was distraught, and for the first time in a while he was actually thinking about cutting. He reached inside the toolbox and grabbed the box cutter...

….But put it down. He couldn't do that. He couldn't do that to Sam, to Bobby, to Caleb, or any of the people who had worked so hard to help him. He placed it back into the box and carried it inside.

"Here are your tools, Bobby," he told the grizzled hunter, placing it on the counter. "Thanks for letting me and Sam use them."

"No problem, Dean," Bobby answered. "So yer Daddy told ya the news?"

"Yup," Dean answered, slumping into a chair. "I've been expecting it for a while."

"It's all going to work out, Dean," Bobby promised, setting a plate of cookies in front of him. Dean picked one up and began nibbling at it absentmindedly.

"I guess," Dean replied, unconvinced. "I'm going to go start packing."

Dean got up from the table and walked upstairs to begin packing.

ABCDEFG

On Monday, they hit the road.

Breakfast at Bobby's was a solemn affair-Sam pouted, John was silent, and Bobby attempted to lighten the mood with bad jokes. But nothing could change the fact that they were leaving.

At ten in the morning, John ordered the boys to bring their bags to the Impala. Sam made a big scene, as usual-he banged his suitcase on the door, stomped his feet, and cussed a couple times until John threatened to spank him.

Dean, on the other hand, walked out silently. He had nothing left in this town, not after leaving Amy.

He didn't even notice that she was on Bobby's lawn until she walked up to him.

ABCDEFG

"Hey, Dean," Amy greeted him. "Leaving?"

"Amy," Dean said, shocked. "Who told you?"

"I ran into Bobby at the store yesterday. He told me about it," Amy answered. "You know, you could've just told me that you were leaving."

"Sorry," Dean said curtly. He just wanted to get this over with, like ripping off a Band-Aid. The faster it was over, the less it would hurt.

"It's fine," Amy replied. "I just wanted to say goodbye."

With that, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a kiss. It was long, passionate-Dean was sure that sparks were flying off of them.

It was also over far too soon.

"I'll miss you, Dean," Amy admitted. "You got closer to me than anybody else. Thank you."

"Thank you, Ame," Dean responded. "You helped me with everything. I-"

"You what, Dean?" she asked.

"I love you," he finished, staring her in the eyes.

There was a beat of silence, and then she replied:

"I love you too, Dean," she replied, kissing him again.

Dean didn't want to leave her; he wanted to stay, wrapped in her embrace, for all eternity. But he couldn't.

"I've got to go," he told her when they were finished.

"I'll miss you," she said, tears in her eyes. "See you later?"

"See you later," Dean repeated, before his throat closed up.

He let go of her hand and walked towards the Impala. He took his seat, next to John and in front of Sammy-but he turned back and stared at the girl who had become his first love.

He didn't take his eyes off of her until she was out of sight.

John looked over to his eldest and noticed that he was crying. Keeping his eyes on the road, he laid a hand on his son's shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Dean," John soothed. And then came Dean's response:

"I know."

**The End**

**Thank you guys for sticking with this story until the end. I may write a sequel, I may not. But you guys have been absolutely amazing, and I want you to know that I appreciate every review, read, and PM I've gotten. **


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